By Sonakchi Pradhan
When all the world surrenders to despair,
And hope dissolves like mist in heavy air,
I find myself with trembling hands,
Grasping threads as fine as shifting sands.
Should I release, let darkness reign,
Succumb to quiet, numbing pain?
Or dare to hold, though weak and frail,
A flicker’s fight against the gale?
This thread may snap; it may not last,
But even so, it binds the past.
A fragile link to dreams once bright,
A whispered promise of the light.
In deepest night, where shadows creep,
Hope's faintest pulse is mine to keep.
I’ll hold the thread, though others fall,
For even thin threads can bear it all.
By Sonakchi Pradhan
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