Tries.
Hundreds of them.
Some result in winning,
some in spirit-crushing
losing and
rancid hopes that lie
on your wooden table in the verandah.
Some let you hair fall
on your dirt-smeared
forehead
while some bring you up to
the cliff of the mountains–
in your head.
Some infuse in you the
smoke of the incense sticks
that you lit if front of Him,
while some fumigate you
with the smoke from the pyre of your
thoughts—the optimistic ones.
Some fling you up
and your heart
and your soul
and your spirit.
Some keep you steady, like the average day
that is not in the mood to be sunny,
nor it is willing to cry to give rain.
Some wake you up,
analyze the dregs of yesterday,
look at the clock that
hangs in monochrome on
your bare wall,
and in one small whisper tell you,
“One more time.”
“Just one more time…”