So the individual kept walking. Even as his feet were being wounded by the thorns laid on his way, he didn’t stop. He stumbled and wobbled, but his present state of ecstasy remained unchallenged. With his chin up, and his eyes and mind devoted to the point he had to reach.
However, he was moved internally, by the conduct of the people of his own tribe, leaving him when he was nowhere, but in turmoil. He told himself that perhaps, that is what life is all about.
So he didn't stop. The chaotic arena of the world, with it’s punishing blows couldn't neutralise his internal spark. As he moved on, the crevices on his soul were filled with rainy drops of affection, sent by mother nature. The world tried to exhaust him, but little did they know this protagonist was able to earn solace in the aroma of petals, that the world unknowingly left on his path, while sabotaging him with thorns.
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