Despite enduring all the pressure, a diamond stone won’t dazzle until its cut and polished. A lot of times there are people quite unfortunate who undergo all the pressure but are forgotten by the diamond cutter to be polished. And, because they don’t shine we fail to notice them.
Not all those who stand on pedestals are diligent nor all those who don’t are indolent. We only see those who stand tall. But there are people who work equally harder, dream equally high but woefully their lives are designed in such a way that things don’t work out the way they should.
This might sound exaggerated because often we don’t care to hear the stories of those whose stairs break just before climbing the pedestal. I wish we could. Atleast we could acknowledge the sleepless nights spent, the blood and sweat given in and the hope crumbled into shards.
Still, they emerge to be surprisingly optimistic, warming cold bodies with the ray of hope they struggle to find. With every disappointment, they get a little stronger and gird up their lions once again but with a lesser ounce of hope. Even if all hope dies, the paths get thronged with obstacles, they don’t stop walking. May be because they eventually let go of the fear to lose.
But there can be no cloud without a silver lining and it is their perseverance that draws the outline of their plain, bulging clouds.
Read the poem below to find out how their lives take a turn:-
Some people have lives like a rainbow
Enthralling passers by with the splendour
Of the vibrant spectrum, while struggling
To make ends meet.
Or like a spacecraft fuelled
With the heat of unflinching faith of millions
That gets swallowed by an
Undiscovered black hole while
Precisely following the trajectory.
They are like that unfortunate mid bottle
In bottle billiards
That sleeps to let the ball pass over its body
Leaving rows of bottles on both sides untouched
Or that beautiful flower on the cactus
That people fear to pluck.
They have hope dripping from their flesh
Quenching despair souls on the way
For hope has betrayed them so often
That they just can’t open the door
Their face muscles are eternally stretched
Flaunting an upturned mouth
Irrespective of contexts
May be because they know ,
They won’t have enough instances to smile
So they just empty the store.
They carry forbearance in their collarbones
And an injured resilience in the tears
They confine within the lids which shine
Bright on moonless nights.
They oar in the sea like mad men
Only to be dashed at unexpected shores
But they set about to explore the deserted landscapes too.
They are bruised
And seconds before healing, another part
Of their body rips apart. But they no more dread blood.
Rather when it slithers on the body
They get prodded by the pain
To walk a few more miles anticipating an elixir
Which they know is an illusion.
They push indifference down their throats
And hallucinate optimism, being schizophrenic about
An omniscient super power following them everywhere.
Let alone aspire, people pray not to have a life like that.
Because theirs is like a novel where readers lose
Desperately turning pages to find a note after the epilogue
As they the story gets intensely unfair
With the protagonist.
They don’t lead races or lists
Or do not even make it to pedestals
Yet, there is an audience who comes down to them
Emptying the aisles with reverence
They can stroll, singing the secret