Off the sands of time, into the wild that leads to the long, hard climb,
Over the scarred terrains of valour, I put my testament of resilience on the line.

The captain of the soul finds herself buried in the act of forged glee,
Hiding parts of herself that she deems to be unpalpable, her scars no one should see.

Oh, what an act of glory! To feed lies into the minds of the onlookers who see the show,
What lies underneath the sinew of the enamoured tales of victory, no one knows.

Belief is the elixir of dreams, the one that wages wars and stands against the raging tides,
But without it, one wishes to find themselves in a land where no one questions their yearning to hide.

I often wonder why the act of survival is painted in golden hues,
Like all of us are dancing in the land of unicorns and riding over the plausible cues.

The mortal realm is nothing but a messy ride that often gnaws us and eats us alive.
Rendering us in the momentous state of numbness, where all we can do is survive.

Anything done in the spirit of survival is an act of might that belies the unfathomable bane,
Where the last hanging thread of sanity loses its grip, nothing ought to remain the same.

To the ones who are fighting battles that no one knows about in their hind.
May you triumph in every one of them as light in its truest mirth you find.

I hope you hold no shame in how you chose to survive the storm through the uncertain sea,
May the light find you in the parts of yourself that you think are too unlovable to see.

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