In our hearts, there is a bud of hope,
But around it, the devil ties a rope,
And whispers with utter certainty,
That our failure is a guarantee,
But how can we shut the voices out?
Hope withers and fear starts to sprout,
And if we do not take control ,
In time, fright will take over our soul,
Let us cut the rope with scissors of grit,
water the plant with love on every bit,
Drench it with sun rays of durability,
Forbid the growth of fear with all ability,
Leaving the devil feeble and petrified,
From the strength that you have fortified,
your bud of hope will beautifully bloom,
And you will be invincible against every doom.

Spilling cup blog, poetry section