Above and away, on the tracks of toiling;
At peace, amid all commotion and boiling;
Agile, your feet thumps the roaring sound;
Your perspiration, trickles along your inhibitions, down.
When heavens may fall but you deter not to,
When the rest shelter from thunder, but you care not to;
His grace, the showers, the pearls of rain, with those beads of sweat from the vision you gain;
Will coalesce on the ground with a boost, never in vain.
Then, the mighty vapours of your ‘petrichor‘ will rise,
Making you fly with wings of cosmic size,
Nearing you to the darts you had once vowed.
Then, Mate, understand!
The fortunes, before your valour, have bowed.
The winning, lustre of your rejoicing tears,
Among the loudest clamour and cheers,
Will become blinding lights to all those fears.
But they will Incite a spark in that One Aspiring peer,
Who, alike, would again set on to toil, amid the hustle, then and there.
The prized Art is inherited not, but learnt.
Ignore, remove, leave, throw and burn,
All the material desires you yearn.
But Quench always the thirst in you, with a surmised focus and clarity,
Until the ‘Life’s Treasure’, you earn.
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