Will the Time Ever Come?

I work each day in peaceful chaos, A tireless race where I wear my fatigue like a badge of honour. Sleep? A stranger I rarely greet. I chase knowledge like tomorrow won’t let me try again— Straining past my limits, just to say “I’ve done my best.” I push beyond what’s humanly possible, Only to fall short of a dream that seems reserved for others. I ask myself: “Why does fortune embrace them and leave me untouched?” I followed the roadmap, mastered the strategies, Still, I wander in circles. Is it mediocrity in disguise or simply fate in denial? Or maybe I’m just not kissed by the ever-elusive lady called Luck. Suddenly in the restless night, The breeze walked barefoot beside the shadow, Like a breath held too long. It was my soul taking a seat across from me —uninvited yet welcome. In a calm, unsettling voice, it said: “The time will come.” I felt the weight of hope and the sting of déjà vu. “That’s the same sweet lie you whispered years ago,” I said, “For every sunrise I chase, the sunset steals.” Still, it replied with measured softness, “Maybe the effort you deemed insignificant— That throwaway task, that barely remembered struggle— Will be the seed that sprouts unexpectedly.” How ironic, That in this cruel kindness of life, The thing we regard as meaningless It could be the one that redefines everything. I sat there, overwhelmed. My hope was both alive and dying, Burning bright in the dark corners of doubt. Will the time really come? Or will I keep dancing in this joyful sorrow, Until “later” becomes a permanent pause?