A poem about the journey of life, where every turn becomes a choice, every obstacle a lesson, and every companion a blessing. Sometimes we spend so much time searching for the destination that we forget to enjoy the road beneath our feet
The Road Was My Life
One morning,
I met a road.
It looked at me
with its winding smile
and whispered,
“Come, walk with me.
I know the way.”
I hesitated.
“I have heard about you,” I said.
“You are sometimes smooth,
sometimes broken,
sometimes full of potholes.
You make travellers stumble.”
The road laughed.
“So does life.”
“Then why should I follow you?”
“Because,” she said,
“the joy is not always
at the destination.
Sometimes it is
in the journey itself—
in a sudden shower,
the fragrance of wet earth,
a child’s laughter,
a bird crossing the sky,
or a stranger’s smile.”
I walked with her.
The road took me through
villages, green fields and mango orchards,
past children sailing paper boats
in little streams,
and farmers returning home
after a day’s hard work.
I saw love.
I saw quarrels.
I saw sorrow.
I saw hope.
And slowly,
I stopped asking
where the road was taking me.
I simply walked.
Then, one day,
the road disappeared.
“Where are you?” I cried.
Only my own voice
returned from the silent forest.
A storm rose.
Dust filled the air.
And somewhere in the distance,
I heard the road whisper:
**“Do not be afraid.
Every journey
has a final turn.
When one road ends,
another journey begins.”**
I woke suddenly.
The rain,
the village,
the children,
the road—
all were gone.
I stood before a mirror.
For a long moment,
I looked at the stranger
looking back at me.
Then I understood.
The road had never been outside me.
The road was my life.
Every turn was a choice.
Every pothole, a lesson.
Every companion, a blessing.
Every mile, a memory.
And perhaps that is
what life quietly teaches us:
We cannot choose
how long the road will be.
But while it is beneath our feet,
we can choose
how beautifully we walk it.
(Vijay Verma)
www.retiredkalam.com
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