written by: Shubhanshu Shrivastava
When crossroads came and I had to,
I always chose the hardest of them all,
they bent me in those twisted ways,
which made me stand apart and tall.
I am glad they did not kill,
and I knew my mettle through the tests,
which came and went as swift,
as the sun and moon’s unrest.
I often shivered of the fear,
as crippling as it can be,
to face those demons that stood before,
but struck them nonetheless therefore.
There are far more wiser and braver still,
many people that I know,
gone through even harder times,
but vigilant, in the summers, rain or snow.
But I must not be sad or even shy,
to admit a person’s worth.
For I am not less, and can’t deny,
I have been bloodied too, and tasted dirt.
So even when the flames engulf,
the consequence of my sweat and blood,
I will not crumble or fall apart to lose,
but get up and rebuild, again by worn out tools.
Even if I am hung to dry,
by fools upon those steady gallows,
I will breathe again, and be heard,
by my thundering roar and bellow.