While my solitaire heart cards its burden,
Except an adequate emotion yet surrendered,
The naive call it ambitions that can cope all turns,
The materialistic lose it in blinks, abandoned.
Hope is the desire immensely perched into souls,
Time wandering and neglecting but keeping its pace,
It's another world for this frail and whole,
The nourishing instincts of nature's prophecy and race.
Though timid and balm to all my frenzied pain,
Still striving, it whispers peace and remorse,
But certainly keeps it secure and strain,
So much that it stays aided even with the corpse.
HOPE is a meld of beautifully depicted stanzas, about how dominated ambitions can be and how big of a change it serves to one's life. And how it stays aided throughout one's isolated journey and what people think of it differently. Its not just an urge to attain but also a source of brace for every soul alive.