Fruits Of Endeavour

By Hiranmayi Anukul

The fruits of endeavour aren’t picked but shrewd,

Come with flaws but consist the truth.

Have vicious lungs to breathe,

They take not a breath but a yelping leap.

They climb the climb, they find the sought,

But when they reach, have their efforts been caught?

When these fruits reach their sought after goal,

Can that handful of strain cause them to fold?

Ambition’s wrath — it can’t be ignored,

“There’s too much!” they say, too many open doors.

There’s too much of everything but never enough,

They fall under their weight when push comes to shove.

Abundance is not an accumulation but an ache in the ribs,

When desire takes hold, the hollow chest is filled.

The line of sight blinded by greed,

These fruits of endeavour are being deceived.

The fruits of endeavour are shrewd no more,

The abundance of ambition has consumed them whole.

Their vicious lungs struggle to breathe,

They take in not a breath but the horrible truth.

By Hiranmayi Anukul