The Race

I don't like this race.
Someone endeared pushed me into this.
This race..
I don't like it!

He forgot to give me shoes;
I asked for the best ones!
But in turn got none.
And now I am running this race-
bare foot,
on a spiky land.

Its not good-
this race.
My feet are pricked and pierced,
with stone bits and pebbles.
And I am too tired now.
Alas!I can not stop.
I should not stop.

Must keep running.
Oh I hate the blood and perspiration!
I hate the abdominal pain
after running so much.
But I must win it;
at least complete it!
They say it is important to complete a race.

I am last as of now.
I want to stop;
but I cannot.
I should not!

This race, the pace, this worn out face!
I don't want to run anymore.
I want a break.
There is no tree!
Nor any splendid brooks or stream as the literati calls them.

Oh no!
The way is getting tougher and tougher.
The stones are getting larger.
The thorns have grown taller.
How far is the finishing line?
How far is the loved one?