They taught him how to walk, amidst whom he now did walk.
Those, since days he could remember, were always there to talk.
He learnt what a path was and learnt what a wall was.
But never what it was to be one’s own boss.
Many a type of wall there was, which he learnt to cross,
Some walls, he had to let them pass
Some walls, he had to break across
And some he could just walk into and pass
Which were just illusionary pieces of mass,
Deceiving enough even for the smarter class.
A few times he was taken through tunnels underground
Which was never taught formally as a means of moving around.
In fact, it was a subject never discussed
Maybe it was one of shame and disgust.
He failed to notice the voices around, slowly fade into a hollow
But soon realized there was none to walk along with or follow.
It finally struck his slow-grasping mind
That from the start he was entrapped in a maze,
Which the kith and kin of his kind
Had solved and made out of it, their ways.
Right now his head was clear of any thought
Except for only one clear thought
That he shall make use of all he was taught
And find the way out with all his heart.
A few more of his kind, he still managed to spot
But none felt as friendly as the vanished lot.
He set foot only where some old footprints were there
He believed that only they shall find him free air.
But he could never make out whose footprints they were
Those who found their way out at last
Or those who were just as equally lost.
Some routes felt like his wish was to be granted
Some others took him back to where he started.
What felt so much like progress yesterday
Sometimes felt useless just the next day.
He took to those tunnels when no one could see
But never knew what their other end would be
A brilliant short-cut if he was lucky,
A dead-end staring back, if he wasn’t to be.
How enormous was this whole bloody maze ?
What fraction of it had he covered in these days ?
How many routes had he so far misjudged ?
Were there just a few lanes left untouched ?
Sometimes in a fit of rage, he managed to climb atop a wall
To get a view of the maze’s end – but it seemed to not at all.
Was this what they call life crisis ?
Was death the only way out of this ?
Killing oneself would be a cowardly move
That he wasn’t one, he had to prove.
He paused for a moment, and realized that this maze
Was nothing but his own life – with all its craze.
There was nothing called the right way, nothing called the wrong.
It was only about moving along and along.
There is no map to help, there is no solution.
Neither an escape route, nor a destination.