It was a cold, lonely December night,
As Nature lulled the world to sleep
And Darkness vieled the mortal sight;
To hide Her secrets; malign and deep.
A solitary soul walked passed the trees,
In sound slumber, through the forlorn forest;
With her hair flowing in the midnight breeze
And her sad eyes, that lacked life and zest.
Her poignant face etched a story of loss.
She, a victim of Fate and circumstances,
Burdened by weight of regrets and remorse;
Haunted by ghosts of the lost chances.
But the broken heart had made a choice,
As Pain made Death seem benevolent.
Over the cliff, a silhouette stood with poise;
And a leap that left the night to lament.
Like a bud that is plucked before it blooms;
Like a dream that dies before it is realised:
An untimely death of a body that the spirit assumes;
Cometh the hour too soon since the sunrise.
What pain has the world not seen before?
Which heart has not been hurt and grieved?
The song is the same from days of yore,
But the spirit has ever fought and lived.
Our existence is but a transient truth,
As we dance to the fitful tune of Time;
Till the twilight years through our youth,
Yet the choice of music is ours to chime.
It was a cold December dawn once more,
As the winter sun rose again to meet;
The world which was broken than before;
Cause a broken heart had ceased to beat.
P.S. -A poem about the choices in our lives and why we should always choose to live. 'Praveka' is a Sanskrit word for 'choice'.
