Title: The Last Mile Beyond The Road Poem by ashok jadhav

(The speaker stands alone at the edge of a long, empty road. Shoes worn thin, breath unsteady, eyes fixed on a horizon that seems to retreat with every step.)
They told me,
"You've done enough."
They said duty ends where strength gives up,
that effort has a limit,
that beyond a certain point,
pain becomes foolishness.
But tell me—
who decided where enough lives?
Who planted that signpost in the dust
and named it "finish"?
I walked the first miles like everyone else.
I followed the rules of distance,
the arithmetic of effort—
work in proportion to reward,
dreams trimmed to match endurance.
I gave what was expected,
no more, no less.
And the world nodded, satisfied,
handing me quiet approval
like a receipt stamped adequate.
Yet inside me, something whispered,
a restless ache in the bones,
saying, This road has more to ask of you.
Because the truth is—
history is not written by those who stop on time.
Love is not proven by gestures that are convenient.
Hope is not carried by hands
that open only when they are full.
I learned this the hard way,
watching others fall behind—not from weakness,
but from loneliness.
Watching promises fail—not from cruelty,
but from exhaustion.
Watching dreams collapse—not because they were impossible,
but because no one walked that last, silent stretch for them.
That is where the extra mile begins.
Not with applause.
Not with certainty.
But with tired legs and a louder doubt.
It begins when no one is watching—
when gratitude has already been spent,
when recognition has turned its back,
when the road offers nothing
except more road.
Go the extra mile, they say,
as if it were a simple extension of distance.
But they don't tell you
that the extra mile is not measured in steps—
it is measured in surrender.
It is the mile where excuses beg to be believed.
The mile where pride pleads for rest.
The mile where fear rehearses every reason
to turn around.
And yet—
this is the mile where you meet your truest self.
Here, I have walked with blistered feet
and an unbroken will.
Here, I have given kindness
when bitterness felt easier.
Here, I have stayed
when leaving would have saved my dignity.
Here, I have tried again
when failure had already claimed my name.
Why?
Not because I am strong—
but because I refuse to be shallow.
Anyone can try when success is close.
Anyone can love when love is returned.
Anyone can work when reward is guaranteed.
But to go the extra mile—
that is to choose meaning over comfort,
commitment over convenience,
purpose over pride.
This is the mile that separates effort from devotion,
talent from character,
ambition from integrity.
And yes—
this mile hurts.
It drains you.
It strips you of the illusion
that life owes you fairness.
But listen—
somewhere along this last stretch,
the road stops feeling endless.
The horizon no longer mocks you.
Because you realize something sacred:
You are no longer walking to arrive—
you are walking because you refuse to abandon who you are.
So let the world stop early.
Let them rest in the comfort of "enough."
As for me—
I will walk when the applause has faded,
when the map has ended,
when the mile markers have fallen silent.
Because beyond effort lies excellence,
beyond exhaustion lies truth,
and beyond the road everyone travels
lies the extra mile—
where ordinary souls become unforgettable.