Most fires made by underestimated sparks, the greatness fire inside ourselves is lit by the spark of the change, came across a small corner in our souls where the conscience still whispering.

You are the mark on my liquid heartwhere love begins with the beginning’s startYou are the desire of the ablaze fires the only truth from ten-thousand-liarsFrom the poem- A Letter to My Love

Passion towards a dream is the fuel that fires every trace of impossibility in the environment, paving way for you to win with style.

Not enough youths fighting windmills. And the old are fearful, jaded or dead. Do not ask me what to do. I am just as cowardly as you. And do not tell me it is enough to speak the truth; that it is bravery enough. Every mountain leveled to the ground, every forest burned, every man, woman, and child who lost their shanties to arsonist fires were defended to the heavens—with words.

Difficulties were fires. If you kept them in check, you could learn from them. You simply had to know how to fan them the right way.

My body shakes with a million different fires. Feet that look like yours warp and the corns split so you see craters of infinite variety, some pus-filled Lake Toba. The weakness in my limbs, the thick weight on my head and chest and the slow burning inside me that never reaches the skin, bring me closer to you. My afflictions bring me closer to you.