By Nandini Garg:
I stood along
With the host of others,
In front loomed the peak,
Older than our forefathers.
The aim, everyone had was the same,
To conquer, reach the top,
Earn glory, or to fade in contempt.
There was no going back, in trying
Our best and yet failing,
There was no consolation,
For the winner has many fathers
But the loser has none.
We have to attempt to scale the peak;
It is our only choice,
Because only the people
Who make it to the top
Would people be listening to the voice.
To thwart us, the protectors of the hill are ready,
They are warriors, tough, ruthless and hardy.
Many shall perish, and only few shall make it,
And the rest would not even be heeded by the world even a bit.
The hill I speak, their stand looms before us like a giant,
The protectors stand menacing, ready to strike us with their full strength
One by one, we must beat them,
If we are able to be remembered by this selfish world,
Earn aureole and eminence.
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