Pressure, inevitable twist of life.
It makes or breaks.
It creates or destroys.
It is my rudra, my karma.
Long addicted towards an unsurmountable feeling of suffocation,
the rising tempo to change the path led in ways undeciphered.
Witness days when strong men fail on chance,
When the grip of indecision rules and brings down,
Kings of unconquered realms to their knees and wonder,
What is character ?
Is it virtue to hold hunger, unquestioned without a cause ?
Is it portrayed when you deal with a physical injury with jest ?
Is it defined when you suffer with failure and recover ?
Is it remaining steady, pulsing heart, never missing a rhythm, when hell descends ?
Or perhaps it is defined by reactions to the 10-ton foot of life,
Without flutter and emotion, to do what needs to be done.
Years in search and guides seemingly abundant, pointless.