When we were just little children,
Grown-ups would ask, Who is our hero?
Someone that we look up to,
But little did we know,
That someone we hero-worship
was once a tiny child.
Whose innocence is pure as white.
Whose love is vast as the universe.
Whose intentions are clear as the sky.
And yet at a young age compelled to fight ‘s life battle.
Being rubbed by the impurities of what we called society.
And still, continuously combat life adversaries.
That little being never knew upon growing up,
He was becoming oblivious to the child that lives in him.
Being neglected by his needs,
His needs to be loved and to be nurtured.
The kid was long forgotten and abandoned.
Instead of behaving like a kid,
He was forced, to act bravely,
To experience, To conform,
To learn these foreign things.
That grown-ups most do.
Now, when anyone asks
Who is the real hero?
It is the spirit of a child
That lives in a full-grown man.
The faceless child,
Forsaken by his adult self.
Hope no one could ever forget that.
Even OLD days welcome us.
Let us remember this always,
The true warrior is a child.