Gladiators of a Different Kind
An amphitheater of sorts in a place you would not expect to find.The gallery is filled with spectators, but of only kind. The battle, the war zone and the fighter are one and the same. Viciously swooping in on the inherent conflicts, perpetually haunting the solo participant, the virtuoso performer, the intriguing complexities continue to baffle. It is a pilgrimage though, but of a different kind where the worship is long over before it has begun. In the muddle of stinging, rocketing thoughts, vehemently struggles its creator.
The mind is the minefield where the thoughts are the torpedoes.Wincing amidst the might and the strength of its waves, each one of us are gladiators in our own right. Where conviction, courage, character, tenacity, and willpower are put to test. When the internal conflicts are more precarious a trudge than any of the wars the world has seen or will ever see.
It is a predicament of sorts, to be or not to be something. To win over the illusion that is as illusive as its might, and from time to time address the other happenings that go on around you.The wail of the performer is a long drawn, one, one that is neither seen nor heard but it exists and projects itself to be known only by its bearer. None but the one who wears its weight will know the suffering, the pain and the agony.
It is a trifle for others who neither recognize its presence nor its prowess. Only at times do the better understanding ones, those who are more capable of empathizing, faintly read the fine print. That too, only if the skills of the orchestra conductor, the master of ceremonies, waver in concealing the fierce conflicts within.
Whether it is known or unknown, heard or unheard, seen or not recognized, the battles continues everywhere, in each soul and it is always going to be so perennially. For, we are all, every single mortal manifested to be born and fight as a Gladiator!