We humans have an amazing sense of perseverance. In spite of adversities people carry on, knowing well that the path ahead would be no more easier than what was behind. So much so that probably fate, if it could ever wonder, like humans do (no, not the song), it would probably be something like this:
What drives you traveller, on this path well trodden, yet confoundingly novel ?
Blistered feet, bloodied and swollen, weighing you down –
yet you march, nay, crawl forward,
down on your knees, egged on by some phantasm,
knowing no road ahead would be any forgiving than known roads behind?
Your demeanour makes me wonder –
when despair grips your throat and you choke,
does your face contort into a smile?
Do you manage to curve your lips enough,
when morbid memories crush your spirit?
You are not the first – these sights, I have seen before.
You seem no different, broken and lacerated, purulent lesions abound.
Your mind bleeds when the steely memories are pulled out from the wounds they inflicted.
But pray tell me, do their serrated edges hurt you more?
Or does the demented masochist in you revel in the pain?
Familiar shapes – do they look haunting,
now that you see them in the dark?
When even shadows desert you, when you know you are truly alone,
as your heart pounds inside you, against you, and you taste your own fear,
do you wonder what is real, what is not?
When thoughts darker than the deepest abyss flow through,
corroding the voice – of mind and body,
like a fiddle out in the storm, languished and left alone –
rusted strings yet hum a cacophony, a crude noise abhorred by all.
You make me wonder, do you ever wonder – why you?
[Image courtesy: Original image of the lonely road courtesy of hotblack.]