Once, you were a whisper,
a small heartbeat in the dark,
soft as morning light,
fragile as dew on grass.
A baby first cried,
then laughed,
then took wobbly steps
toward the world that waited,
uncertain, vast, and heavy.
Teeth came slowly, one by one,
like little victories breaking through
soft gums of patience.
Each cut, each ache,
each moment of growth unseen,
was proof that you were meant
to stand, to chew, to speak.
A seed fell into soil,
hidden, unsure of the sky.
Rain kissed it, sun held it,
and slowly, quietly, it stretched.
Roots tangled in dark, damp earth,
searching, learning, struggling
for the strength it did not yet know it had.
Leaves opened to the sun,
small at first, trembling in wind.
Branches stretched like arms
longing for more than soil could give.
Seasons came and left,
storms tested it,
droughts whispered lies of stagnation.
Yet still, the tree grew.
Flowers bloomed,
fragile, fierce, fleeting.
Some petals fell too soon,
others bloomed in defiance
of the cold, the storm, the shadow.
Fruit followed, slowly ripening,
sweetness earned through time, patience, persistence.
Growth is never sudden.
It is not instant.
It is the quiet hours
when no one watches,
the practice in empty rooms,
the words whispered to yourself
when your heart feels small.
We are all like that baby,
like that seed, like that flower,
like that tree learning to bend
without breaking.
We stumble, we fall, we cry,
we watch others fly,
we wonder if we will ever bloom.
And some of us remain stuck,
watching time pass,
water wasted,
sunlight ignored,
hoping growth comes without effort.
But growth waits for no one.
It demands our small daily choices.
The courage to rise when tired,
the patience to speak when silent,
the humility to learn when proud.
It is shown in small steps,
in repeated attempts,
in the bones that ache from trying,
in the heart that still hopes,
in the mind that refuses to settle.
From baby to adult,
from seed to tree,
from bud to flower,
from raw ache to strong teeth,
every stage is a lesson:
The world is not built in a day,
and neither are we.
So keep growing.
Even when the soil is hard,
even when the storms shake your branches,
even when the world says you’re too small.
Stretch, reach, bloom anyway.
Build your roots,
lift your leaves,
bear your fruit.
Because stagnation is a slow death,
and the person you were yesterday
cannot hold the dreams you have today.
Growth is a choice,
an effort,
a life lived in constant becoming.
And one day,
when your branches are full,
your roots deep, your fruit sweet,
you will look back at the baby, you once were,
the seed you once were,
and smile.
Because every tear, every cut,
every silent struggle
was proof you were meant
to grow, to bloom, to rise.
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In this intense and powerful Battlefield, I don’t compete
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