Ever wondered, climbing tens or hundreds of steps,
panting with rushed huffs and puffs
would gift you with an unrivalled embrace?
I have been pampering myself with this gift
for almost two decades now, and the gift gallery
that I visit is run of the mill place called Terrace.
Yes, that’s where my roots belong, sculpting
my persona with an emboss of lowliness,
Lending me with warmth in the day
when I was cold with dejection and
glittering my nights when I tickled pink in happiness.
Every evening of mine wore the blanket of air
filled with stillness and mornings sipped the rays of avidity,
It always made me believe that irrespective of darkness and enormity,
you will always be a star in your own identity.
With each stroll on the terrace, I learnt a new perspective
to life and the way, we should be living,
The countless stars, immeasurable metres of widespread clouds
only showed how beauty multiplied with the joy of giving.
Terrace, although it’s on the top but its significance
degrades without its substructure underneath,
this taught me that no matter how wide reaching your success is,
still the ladder you took to ascend is floored to the modesty filled Heath.
My root becomes a hilltop when I need a boost,
a seaside when I need to calm down
and a long drive of thoughts when I wish to talk in quietude,
A notable part of my life I shall spend on Terrace,
by talking to the stars, hugging the clouds,
absorbing the unfettered breeze of life in solitude.