It Isn't A Race...

The race that all ran, 

Excited, but stranger of the path.

The track seems crystal clear,

Not beyond flowery grass.

Merrily, to unfamiliar exposures,

Smiled by transient words. 

All of a sudden ready, get, set, and go.

Seems chasing game? Or illusion?

Halted at diversions, crowd, there was.

Pre-made paths, pietra dura, engraved feet.

Rising chin up, moving around, 

Came to imprint, murky seeming path.

Tornado thoughts, piercing prompts,

Expecting eyes and hurrying hurdles.

But, only and only Majestic dream,

Moving ahead and ahead and ahead.

Success, a chain of accomplishments,

Embellished by imperative experiences, 

So-called failures. 

Me, like Lord Arjuna, just on the eye.

No companion, indeed, it was within.

Supreme he lies, intentions he checks.

With the honest endeavour to persevere,

Holding hands of hope,

Absorbing positivity from spirituality,

Till the successful attempt,

Am moving ahead and ahead and ahead...