By: Abdullah Bin Khurram
Once upon a time in eons mill
'Twas a dusky dawn and murky still
Billowing winds and winter's chill
Falling rocks, a clambering drill
Three young lads climbing up a hill
Pursuing their goal in mortal peril
Spiky rocks testing their will
Their own luggage, a heavy anvil
"Plough on comrades, we shall lose…"
"not," he added after a moment's muse
Not sure of what the journey ensues
Afraid of the top, a summit's hues.
Hazy concepts, distraction construes
Giving for the future eminent clues
The last to come, the first to obtuse
Acedia's grip, an adventurer's noose
The two other laddies labouring on
Pushing their way thru bush and thorn
From homely comfort abstinence sworn
Consistent perseverance, a sire's horn
One looked up, an idea born
"Why is the path so hard and torn?
I'm all tired and mired and worn
A burden to comrades, a rose's thorn."
"Why not take another path instead
The aim still the mountain's head
Every trail there must be tread?"
The hour's need, a river dead.
Alone, broken, the soul in grip
Each word, moment, heartstrings rip
Tears, blood from the eyes drip
Abandoned friends, a coin's flip
Shoulders hunched, bags zip
Determined, equipped, alone on trip
None to catch should one slip
Purposeful moves, a heart's clip