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I pile on bricks of burden as
I chase fear towards me,
And Nurture frustration, like it were my own.
My heart dries in the simmering sun.
Years bear demons upon me.
Shadows swirl from the brush and over the pass.
My skin, worn…my name – almost forgotten.
I step onto the ladder before me.
Shedding the layers, I climb.
A gush of applause within me roars.
I can hear you, only a whisper…
Above the night and through the leaves,
You rustle with the all of everything.
At the summit, I squeeze my hands into a fist
To feel the release of time –
and Then,
There…
…quietly,
You walk in as a King,
with a King’s celebration.
The last two lines were adopted from a Rabindranath Tagore’s poem from his “Gitanjali”
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