The roots are brown ; wisdom knows no “early” nor “late”

She was in a year of limbo

Nothing, not much at all

Except musing and remusing

The failures of yesteryears

The wounds she could not forget

Somebody, somebody, everybody advices her

Do this, do that

The worst part was that

She was not listening to only one person’s advice: Hers

Then the year of the Sheep was born

Things began meandering and turning

For the dots that seemed like hurdles on the path last year

Began connecting, one by one

Backwards and sidewards

It surprised her

For doors opened , doors where she would

Do well like a trained sales-man(woman)

Too many people to thank

Like a swarm many new people to light

The dim dark way ahead

A little loser’s pride was born

Or a madness to live

A life lived like death

For nothing (that is what people say)

She pushed away poison mouths

In clever words she had never used before

She had become “Diplomatic”

She had become “hard to take for granted unlike before”

“Mastered weak emotions”( or so she thought)

She had become everything

That should have stopped the”walking over her”

Long before she knew she was going somewhere

Partially because of the insults of the past

“See I wasn’t that!!!!”, “See I am this”, she wanted to yell

First of all she wasn’t yelling at actually nice people

Vague efforts in vain

Not everything was bad though

It was harvest season

And everything was all smiles

She pulled all the baskets on to her head

Because she had carried none

In the past year or before that

Like a work-thirsty ant

Who wanted to lift and walk before death

Came as a sudden visitor

Or to rewrite the past that didn’t leave her head

Nor her sleep

For now she thinks back

“Okay, so what if I was a loser?’

“what if I was talkative?”

“What if I encouraged horrible people?”

“what if I had embarrassed myself a lot of times?”

“What if I was hurt and walked over?”

It only makes the come back

Better, a lot better

“Were they perfect people first?”

“To say anything at all about another?’

“I feel alive after a long time

But should not let the flood rush cover my eyes

To see the world the real way it is”

Probably the introverted  loser in the past

Had a better philosophy of life

The foliage comes latetumblr_lfhfj9KJrn1qaidj6

The roots come forth first

The roots are brown

To make the leaves green

The tree is not ashamed

Of that or the delay

After which the green comes

For you have nobody to prove

Except yourself

Nobody is a loser, unless he chooses to remain so.

But somebody was determined

To rewrite what was written

To end in mud and mud alone

To win fate with what they call “will”

What you call ¬†“Compensation for wounds and pain”.

Yet you must win, without having to stop living

In the end is not how far you have run

Rather how well you have

She hoped that her wrecked mind

Would understand that

In showing the world

How well you can give light

Burn out your oil

Not all your wick

Let the world see what they choose to see

Inside you what do you see

If you see a heart that is unchanged by praise or insult

untarnished by doubt and fear

All this way and pain will make sense

Set the ground first mind oh dear

For all success and failure is an illusion

They will find fault in success

And praise of bravery in failure

There should be none but who knows

You better than you

Immature or the grandma kind

Anything they call

Let it not affect your heart

For it is important,

Do you know why?

It makes records in the soul

Failure has not spoiled people as much

As success has

Run with passion

Never with arrogance

Dear mind, I will not remind you again.. Go tell her

For too many good souls

Trust you………………………………

You would have run so well

Even if you hadn’t hurt yourself falling

So get back up and walk….

What needs to be proved has already been

Every girl is a princess

And no arrogant man needs to attest that

For arrogance is neither the sign of a proper MAN nor WOMAN

Even if it is you dear One….

The best of philosophy is churned out

When embracing darkness

It is no surprise that shards of experienced words

be planted in your path

however early

For death knows no “early-age” nor “late-age”

Neither should wisdom.

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