The battle continues
the practical and the romantic
in an ever engaging tussle,
the right from the wrong
the paths to take
not that there is much choice,
either way, ever engrossed,
intertwined and yet distinct,
the practical feels empty,
the romantic distressed,
the practical feels the elixir of achievement,
the romantic, the peace and oneness,
the realist and the dreamer,
who is right and what is right,
whether there is really a difference,
isn’t it all a point of view,
is there so much of a difference,
questions rage on and on,
and somewhere in between, there is compromise,
the call of survival, the subsistence way,
the compromise that is recognised as “wisdom”,
but few don’t desire to bend,
they break and their blood,
inspires a stubborn breed,
of brittle heroes,
that die, and only a few,
are recognised,
as martyrs
and the others lie,
in their untitled tombs,
covered by layers,
of the sands of time
the mortal remains,
of the immortal quest.