A figure slumped beside the road, a heap of ash and thread. No face, no shape, just heavy cloth, and eyes that looked half-dead. “Who are you?” asked the wrinkled one, with voice both calm and kind. “I’m Sadness,” said the shape, half-formed, “the one all try to bind.” “They turn from me,” the figure said, “as if I bring disease. They smile too wide, deny the weight, pretending th...

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This poem challenges the myth of inherent greatness in those who rise to prominence and reminds us that success often comes from luck, influence, or fear—not brilliance or charm. It inspires readers to value their uniqueness, silence doubt, and pursue their own path with determination and pride.
 

Do you feel small, unseen, unheard?

Does the world seem tilted, its justice absurd?

Remembe...

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