I am a rusty car in your backyard,
Which has lost its touch at novelty.
But still it possess the mighty touch,
Of the godforsaken time’s cruelty.
I am the barren old tree,
With one leaf just hanging still.
On the wild land of rocky slope,
Which has never known of care and till.
I am that empty reservoir,
Which hosted a spree of quenching thirst.
To the whole city or small village of beasts or man,
Without dividing who comes third or first.
I am those empty caverns filled,
The dwelling past of some mighty beasts.
That upheld now an empty fear,
Nothing the most but to the least.
I am those airy castles grand,
Which saw the grandest feasts and wars as well.
But now host some frequent crowd of logs,
Who has lost their souls and the heart it dwell.
Can you discern who am I, see?
For only then can you revive me.
I am rare now in those empty logs,
I am true now only to those who wrought,
I can be built up above the highest top,
I am that feeling that’s too hot for the cold lot.
Guess who I am, where I stand,
Can you discern where or what I am?
Okay, if no, then you read on,
I am that makes you survive and live,
When you jump off the highest top,
When you slide down the steepest slope,
I am within you, your joy and hope.