Climb That Mountain Poem by Mitta Xinindlu

There is a mountain placed before us.
It's wide, big; high above the clouds.
With no way around it;
no choice about it.
Just to climb it,
even through low sighs.

Some mountains, we choose.
Often those that we pursue
are easy to climb.
They leave no bruise;
we step on them like crumbs.
No sweat, no fuse.
But also no valuable lesson.
Just an excuse after an excuse.

There are harsh sessions on the high mountain.
Hard lessons on the big mountain.
No breaks, no fountains.
Just hardships and rough times.
No awards, no rewards.
Just emotional, mental tides and fines.

Fine, we usually accept the challenge.
Out of options, we welcome the change.
An exchange of comfort for caution.
We become deranged for family.
For our children, friends, even lovers.
Some lovers who may become an enemy.
We become a destiny with no back covers.
With our back against the wall.
Our back totally exposed to all.

But, step by step,
day by day,
with our veins, we climb up but not in vain.
Some days we want to go back to our fortress.
Some days we only see black, no success.
But, after a while, mounting in grime,
we forget about the pain.
The hardships start to fade.

We start to familiarise the pain with the trees.
We accept the bushes and rocks as home.
We follow the footsteps of animals and bees;
looking for shortcuts to roam.
Seeking solace in the shade of what we see.
We seek and become one with isolation.

In isolation, we start to rely on ourselves more.
We learn to love all our sores;
to trust our own instincts.
We become stronger and sharper in senses.
And the stronger we become,
the faster we mount in fun.
In the end, we reach the top.
Out of it all,
we come out unbreakable, alive.
Tired but, surely, revived.