The door was opaque, like the dust
Frustrating and giving hopes similarly
There looked nothing beyond its colours
Yet there was this opening to go past it
To bathe the soul anew after the hiatus
That had gone into uncertain directions
Yes, fear was the spoken writ of times
That colours would fade into nothingness
But the silent spirit of hope remained
Pushing to go through the passage left
Like the oft quoted hoping against hope
Yes, sometimes it hurts, but for good
Moments make you fugitive of fate
Or a recluse of life’s imposed hesitations
At times, you wish to run into a dark room
Holding tightly the loosening grip of hope
Alone and mocked, left adrift with chaos
When even your own people question you
For being so stubborn with a failing hope
But you remain there, believing in you
The black of the failing hope, sometimes
Is the only element that speaks for you
Helping you get over your frustration
Taking you beyond, through the passage