Tiny little pieces fallen on the floor,

I pick them up diligently, like a chore.

Once a magnificent marvel,

now fragments of the past, without any sparkle.

Washed over by life, love and loss,

Tales of bridges burnt, and crossed.

This is not a sad tale,

but one of tragedies and triumphs.

Of dragging yourself up the hill,

searching everyday, for the lost will.

Every story has a few tears, drops of blood perhaps,

But what is a hero without a few mishaps?

Every blow, meant to break me

only to mold myself anew.

Someday, I’ll be ready,

and have my destiny fulfilled,

Until then, I shall continue to rebuild.


Copyright (C) 2016 Sneha P


6 thoughts on “Rebuild

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