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Haunted by the surly bonds
of the hostile earthly world,
thy heart is thy only palace,
built by thou, perfectly curled..

whenst triumphant you walk
in this world, with the thought,
that you belong the most here,
this is where, to be, you ought..

..thenst this very world
holds its back at you,
& seems to be deafened
by thy earnest pleas a few..

fighting thy way through,
the path that lies ahead of you,
conquering with ease all that’s old,
trying strong to conquer the new..

you tend to fall by many a times
over the slippery, marshy terrain
getting away at times with luck,
sometimes screeching tremendous pain..

the beating muscle awaits a hand,
to hold & rise again in times,
when fallen apart by thou fate,
as long as the lub-dub chimes..

{NOV 2008}
Abhijit Kurve