It is born in a very quiet place.
Sometimes it just gathers on you , resting on you, like dust,
Till one fine day you decide to stir that dust, fuelling it, till it becomes a storm and is unleashed.
Strength doesn’t live amidst bruises, broken bones and purple abrasions.
It lives in eyes that have seen the worst but are still willing to see the best in everyone.
It lives in feet that have lost their way so often, but are now guiding others to their salvation.
It lives in empty hands that hold on to others, with courage , grit and determination.
It lives in a back that is bent with age but that has the tenacity and resilience to carry the weight of an entire family.
It lives in a bleeding heart that’s holding on to a tear soaked faded red shirt every night, but can meet every sunrise with a smile.