From the day your shoes sounded rough

against the brown earth,

did the tale begin.

You always wanted to reach the seashore,

And then take a ship to mine gold—

That was a dream you had.

The gold was the Monday sun,

The seashore was the nearest one,

and you were the failed dreamer.

Through the window, you would see—

Your dream is floating, alive.

Until one day, you decided—

To leave your smoky cold basement,

And tie your shoelace to start again.

You were sick in pain,

Last night was hell—

And you wanted to get the world to know

That you have got an aim this time.

You started on a heavy morning,

The rain poured harder and harder,

Until it rubbed the red-raw sickness—

Off your pale face.

But you ran, and ran, and ran

Faster, and faster and faster

Until you saw the seashore smiling

In front of you.

You won the first game,

Against the black-and-white rain.

And the world clapped in delight.

You felt your aim coming closer,

As you felt the wind slapping harder—

On your face, in the deck.

The whites outline the blue waves;

That's your success, outlining your face—

But deep down, you knew the gods were clever.

The Gods would snap their fingers,

And the world would pause for once—

The game would be reshuffled,

Until you turn the loser.

The men behind the dark

Emerge as a triumphant;

You knew you were worth it,

But that's how the world's planned.

We can't help it, dear.

It's as simple as you know,

Nothing can change the melting of snow;

The poison seeps through your veins—

Your eyes turn purple, your lips stained

In the red-raw burns.

And you return.

It's not the world that would see and judge

And pass a decree;

But it's the Gods that have things planned out—

Red roses fail; the fake ones stand out:

You can't complain, and you can't shout.

The rain pours harder and harder and harder

Until it rubbed the red-raw sickness—

Off your pale, poisoned face.

But you ran, and ran, and ran

Faster, and faster and faster

Until you came to know,

True winners are ultimate losers.