Age is nothing but a number, written to hold a recognition in this world of unknown
To differentiate between runners on the track of life, without emotions they stand
Written in black they are without colours, bland just like without spices

Hidden behind the long hairs are the eyes, noticing every winner being called on stage
A smile drenched in happiness, eyes in another face wet with tears of sorrow
A laugh of victory shared among the winners, faces hidden are of the losers and of the weepers
Killed is everything but hope, it's not killed but is washed away by the flood of failures

Confidence is what made a flower bloom, or it is what made someone take a stand to against tyranny
Words spoken are what makes a voice, wakes the sleepers from their daydreams, and ends the drought of conscience