You saw the outside,
The exterior, the beauty;
But what lies inside,
To know, isn’t your duty?
His ambition, his dream,
Always were strong;
Persistent, like a stream,
Sang the victory song.
He had worked hard,
In night or in bright;
Even if it scarred,
And diminished all light.
When defeated he rose,
Rose again from the ashes;
And made that brave pose,
Not afraid of anymore clashes.
But all you see, is the glass,
The paint glowing in the sky;
Because there is no class,
To answer the how or why.
So, friend, next time you say,
That he is big and fortunate;
Think of the hours he had to stay,
Working alone and late.
– Siddarth
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