Waiting For Victory, ,

thousand of ideas and million of dreams, the eyes of the toads not fit for the streams, clapping at the thunderous hall silence the hearts, merry making balloons not yet free, tied to poles, the run away birds return to visit the homes, renovated, but never painted with pastel shine, the routine sun, moon and the stiff sky giggle and make fun at the roaming spies, the strong hearts whistle as the wind at the horizon, dreams abandoned, dropped, and snatched in seconds, the moments of joy erupt as the struggling shoots, the manure is too good to hold the slender roots, the tanned skin blossomed, not bothered of weathers, the feathers are flexible to fly again on the paper..