Nobody has heard about the man
who came second last at
the last second. Can
you imagine that?
Halfway through the race, a cramp,
Pain searing through a broken bone,
Muscles and tissues, weak and damp,
Turned ambitions into stone.
A touching story. Some guy
who was crippled finished a race
slowly as the rest rushed right by.
He finished. At some snail’s pace
trying to reach some sort of goal.
Mary also had a little lamb
whose fleece was black as coal,
But nobody gives a damn.
He was one who lost the run,
But beat himself, some would say,
As a brave boy – the only won
to ever finish in such a way.
But winning isn’t everything is a lie:
A certificate, of appreciation, is a token
given to all the ones that try;
History is made ‘when records are broken’
and ‘when you try the best you can’,
And if the latter had been spoken,
You would surely remember the man
who ran. And ran.
Shubham Goenka (poemiswheretheheartis.wordpress.com)