I wiped the fogged glass,
Of the windows of my treacherous past.
I tried to look through
But could not see any bright hue.
Something was preventing me from looking outside.
It were the scratches on the window, both thin and wide.
The scratches were multiple,
For which hundreds were accountable.
Those scratches couldnt be removed,
Nor could the window glass be improved.
As each scratch multiplied,
It kept fading the Light.
It was the Light of hope,
Without which one cannot cope.
It was about to extinguish,
But still flickered, as if waiting for my last wish.
It waited patiently while I stared,
Thinking whether my wish really cared.
I looked back at the window carefully,
Realised that glasses with so many scratches stick together rarely.
It wasnt ordinary and nor was I
"Sufferings should be endured" was all a lie.
Enduring the pain,
Has never given the victim any gain.
So why should I be a victim,
Of this inhuman system?
No more will I give in,
And let inhumanity win.
If making me suffer makes them cherish,
Then not giving in will be my last wish.
The flickering light soon started gleaming
And the smile on my face was beaming.
Looking back was no more needed
And to a new beginning I now proceeded.
A beginning whose end I will choose,
And this battle I will surely not lose.
