The wind will breathe over every ocean, but one will begin the tidal wave,
Which will never stop blowing out its neutral coloured misery,
Who would think that what fills our body, could drown our heart,
That the world we live in every day can suddenly turn to a battlefield,
That the mould which we were created from is then what destroys us,
Who would think that anything good can get out of bad and bad put together,
That dazzling pink petals could unfurl out of a filthy pond,
That a lotus is born out of a foundation, not even a thorn would live in,
No clear water reflection- its future is muddy- but the goal clear,
It displays the true colours not the mirror image, the mirage of one’s self,
For real success measures the difference between the reactants and the products,
The dirty pond and the dancing lotus, the homeless boy and the leading actor
For when you look in that shining mirror- you are not seeing the lotus,
But a polished glass panel, giving you the colours, but not setting the scene,
Giving you the picture, but not the whole image, giving you the pretty flower,
But not the struggles it has fought, to make that flower, the most beautiful of all!