One day

I’ll do it one day;
and not far away
is that glorious day.

The sun will flood yond scape,
leaving no room for escape,
and no room for excuses.

The wishlist will be cleared,
and mark of greatness seared
unto each deserving warrior
on the righteous side of fate.

The swords of hell will bleed
in gore of giddy greed
that’s born of middling creed
and Shishupala’s grain.

The sun of hope shall shine
from million repressed eyes,
from lads of sunken dreams
and chores it blindly weans.

For life’s a birdie match.
Each day is but a game;
each second is a point
to famine or fame.

And life’s a cruel war:
Attrition and horror,
Emotional drain,
Quid pro quo trade:
A gem for every pain,
A rose for every thorn,
Slow death for those who stale
and never wear the edge.

(Nb. wear the edge means to wear down the edge of comfort zone by constantly trodding in that zone)