Struggle is the Alchemy of Life

Mottakeenur Rehman

 

History crowns the relentless dreamer.

One twilight, my father’s voice grew heavy—
"Son, poetry won’t barter for bread,
Look—your youth is ink spilled on the wind,
Half-gone, yet the world remains unfed."

The alley murmurs, sharp as scythes—
"Can a stanza mend a leaking roof?
Seven thousand buys no tomorrows,
Only yesterday’s reproof."

"Child, the soil scorns a poet’s hands,
They weigh men by callous and yield.
Stay rooted—don’t gulp the sky like rain,
Lest you starve with your harvest unpeeled."

I pressed my brow to his cracked palms:
"Father, I kneel to no man’s scorn,
Only to the tempest in my veins.
Wait—the harshest night births dawn.
Have you not seen? The eyeless trace firelight in the void,
And the maimed dance when flutes cry home."

"Ah, Baba, your worry is a fable—
Every brick claims it bears the wall alone.
But paths are woven by pilgrim feet,
And cowards die where seeds are sown."

Nothing was—still, Hope stood.
Nothing will be—Hope stays.
I sank in the void of my own making—
Had I not been, would Hope erase?

Struggle is the alchemy of life—
History crowns the relentless dreamer.

Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓

✔ Receive the ebook in seconds ✔ 50 poems from 50 different authors


Comments +

Comments3

  • sorenbarrett

    Mottakeenur you have done it again. A magnificent poem of wisdom set in great lines (your youth is ink spilled on the wind, Every brick claims it bears the wall alone) many others as well. Then the jewel decorated with good rhyme. But I must add that although poetry does not feed the poet it feeds others being an unselfish gift. On the impressions it leaves in others unforeseen choices are made and a world that might never have been takes shape. A definite fave

    • Mottakeenur Rehman

      Your words are a gift in themselves—thank you. It’s true, poetry may not fill the belly, but if it stirs something in another soul, then the ink was worth spilling. To think of these lines echoing in unseen ways, shaping choices like quiet winds bending grass… that is the unspoken hope behind every stanza. I’m deeply grateful this poem found a home in your mind. Your reflection has honored its journey.

    • Poetic Licence

      A wonderful and beautiful write some solid gold pearls of wisdom, lines that dance off the page, I raise a glass to the relentless dreamer, a pleasure to read

    • arqios

      The misery of struggle is somehow like the bitter womb waters that surround us even before coming up for air at birth. 🕊🙏🏻



    To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.