Hope

Like a page. Bound in a book,
I want to break free and roam,
Or float, as might be your perception,
I was filled once,
By love and words of tender caring,
To only be erased
And filled up again,
This time, though,
Not with warm affection,
But with malice and foul inflection.
It burns my soul to be captive here,
Burns like the fires of Hell,
But wait, isn’t Hell just a concept
Of evil and sorrow?
But then, I lighten up again,
Feel glad again,
Because I have in me
A small thing called Hope.
Every vice is balanced by a virtue,
And to comprehend a virtue,
Vice needs to be known,
Just like to know light,
Darkness needs comprehension.
Hope, though, is the only passion I have.
What remains now
Is whether Hope is force enough
To free me, to tear me from these shackles
And manacles that bind me,
So that I too may
Roam, float, wander,
And realize on my own
That there is a Paradise somewhere,
Where bliss and ecstasy reign absolute
And tranquility and freedom rule supreme.

- Vinaykrishnan