Once I saw a worrier, lost but surviving for hopes
The pain was visible as were the wounds,
I dared to ask her the cause of her mourns…
It was the loss, she told me in her words,
“Followers become criticizers,
And loved ones emit hatred…
Pride and honor flow away with the blood
It’s all related to win or loss in life’s battlefield.
It’s hard… hard to be confident
As confidence, like fair weather friends, requires a piece of achievement.
The blood, the wounds, the pain is valueless…
…If it’s not accompanied by success.
The loser is always alone,
As the crowd follows the victor…
The sacrifices, the wills, the daring is rubbish,
…If it hasn’t lead to a triumph.
Tears may be there…if the emotions are intact
Or there maybe eyelids …trying to cover the dryness of the mind
There may be a grimace, advocating the pains…
…Or a fake decoration with the loser’s smile.
Smile, tears or may it be a grimace…
For it there is no one to look at.
No one to hold hands, no one to convoy
No one to assure, no one who relies
The loser is friendless… with all humiliations
Garlands of mockery are ready to welcome
The loser is a subject of making fun
…Or a lesson teaching not to challenge the situation.
Collection of misery, host of grieves, a live disappointment
A loser is a disgusting thing to look at…
A cursed person, a live omen, feeling of sadness,
…a loser is something that evokes aversions.
But may it be a winner or a loser
…A worrier is always a worrier
Losing in one battlefield doesn’t end the war
Anything can happen in arena of life
One battle ends to welcome another
Losses occur only to test the capacity of the soldier
History salutes them who become winners after a loss
Also there are losses losing battle with the loser…”