The game starts in a dim room, with people bustling all around,
With the opening credits being happy and tired sounds,
And the strong cries that emanate from the new additions,
Make them sound worthy of their lifelong mission.
The first few years go by with little to no zeal and passion,
For the player is rarely awake, floating in the clouds of sleep, with little to no action,
Their tiny bodies are warming up to get all the rest they need,
For in the later phases naps are not where the game will lead.
The second phase is the tutorial stage,
For the new generation, from every country, every age,
They are taught new things to live, to survive the world’s fire,
But often end up learning what they need, not what they desire.
Now that the players are apprised, now that they have an inkling of their goal,
They are pushed into an unknown world that’s suddenly theirs to control,
Some stand strong, having accepted their fate,
While the ‘incapable’ ones crack under the enormous weight.
The third phase has started, the most lethal one so far,
Where people cut people to the length they want, not caring about the scar,
Both damaged and intact players climb over each other, eager to get to the top,
But no ones ever reached there and looked down at the huge drop.
Now, most are broken, some with wounds too awful to cure,
They have slashed through all, and ripped hearts both tainted and pure,
Most have their soul taken also, both by people and blades,
As they reminisce through memories of the game they once played.
Time passes by, and the game ends for a lot,
What’s left of the wounded body is now buried or in a pot,
These masters have lived through the game, and made it their home,
And now they can finally leave the place they used to roam.
What happens next is rather a skeptical mystery,
For no one can tell what happens after they are history,
But what keeps them extant and the new players alive, among this confusion and strife,
Are the heroics shown and mistakes made in this game called ‘life’.
New Delhi, India