Bruised...

Is this me, is it my fight…
a punch here, one there, sometimes below the belt,
injured, bruised, I get up,
and fight again, sometimes beating them up.
Revengeful I try,
Defeated, I win,
And then I fight….

Called myself a warrior, born to fight,
What am I fighting?
Whom m I fighting with?
What m I fighting for?
Is this what I had prepared for,
Is this what I had yield for,
I fought and I fought hard,
bruised I got up,
and again I fought hard…

Who do I fight…the enemy,
Who is the enemy?
Myself, my rules, my institution, my goals, my wishes….who???
coz I fight,
each and every moment I prepare…
for the next fight…
every night I sleep tired,
to be fresh for the fight next day…
the cheers of life are slowly becoming extinct,
the objectives are only to fight,
for what…?

Who do I punch, myself in my reflection,
or shadows of myself behind me,
fighter, warrior or call me survivor...
And I struggle, I struggle to find myself….
I struggle to fight or is it only struggle…
responsibilities I want to stand up for,
goals I want to live for,
objectives I want to die for….
everyday I fall and then rise,
bruised I stand up and I hit back….
Am I fighting or am I struggling…

Do I need this…?
Or was it something else I wished for…
Every day I get up and follow this routine I chose…
Protocols and processes,

I a “rebel” is nothing but a process,
just a process given in to these struggles,
given in to these routines…
Am I still a fighter,
Or I long back killed the fighter…
Am I choosing this life..
Or this life is choosing me….