By Anuvindan T
He thought perhaps the shackles were the cause
The reason the whirlwind inside him went on without pause
But now free of binds and anchors, he’s started walking on
He finds the yearning of his mind is but a double edged sword
For each step taken, the whispers echoes
Not enough, You could’ve taken one more
For each pause he makes, each rest, each night
The pavement seems to stretch far with all its might
Each moment of doubt stings as pangs of regret
And doubts, they grow from the crimson blood that’s spilt
Each mirror is an insult, a reveal of the truth
One that’s hard to accept and even harder to change
Each praise feels like a lie, born to please without core
And each mistake irremissible, carelessness but an excuse
Each second taken to adjust a loss, and each plan waned is a waste
But he carries on still, for a battle unfought hurts more than a lose
By Anuvindan T
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