It came to me again, at dusk.
All was gray and gloomy.
Even without opening its mouth,
I recognized its cold, raspy voice.
It moved close to me like a dark cloud,
so heavy that it hovered the place,
as if it was empty.
It was my enemy.
It used to send chill to my spines,
and make my every limb tremble.
But that day, I was prepared,
all equipped and strong.
"Come to me," it said.
I shook my head.
It smiled with hidden deceit,
and offered me its hand
in false reassurance.
My lips parted as I uttered,
The wind grew strong and colder
with soft yet murderous whistle,
but not a hint of fear came to me;
I've grown bolder.
Then the world suddenly stopped,
and was filled with ringing silence,
not in peace but with deeper darkness.
I opened my eyes with nothing to see.
I listened with nothing to hear.
I walked with no direction.
And in the nick of time,
my enemy pierced me with my own sword.
The excruciating pain dropped me onto the ground,
swimming in the pool of my own blood.
It knew where to struck me,
and hit me, and beat me.
It knew the kind of pain
that would bring me to my knees.
I tried to stand up, but my will failed me.
I thought, I grew strong,
but my enemy, stronger.
My mind was preparing for an nth-time defeat.
I thought that it would eternally be impossible,
to win a battle with yourself.
Yes, it was me.
Rather, it had been me I was fighting with.
Amidst the great length of hopelessness,
my sapped out self-esteem,
and unresolved confusion,
came a dazzling blinding light . . .
It was more ardent than the sun,
yet older than the oldest stars.
It was a light brighter than the brightest light,
blinding, indeed, yet vivid.
Marveled by its overwhelming glory, I looked up.
At that moment,
for the first time in a mileage of time,
I forgot the meaning of defeat.