Those hard winters shape the kind of soul that cannot be bent, that will not train you too easily that is beyond hard to imagine, Those hard winters shape me through frost my first ever wounds before it heals, no kind of wound that would easily heal, only the firsts, Those hard winters shape me in the silence where no applause exists, whyt would they even exist as it figures, Those hard winters shape a heart that doesn’t collapse beyond you can see when those storms do arrive instantly even uninvited...
Those unfinished dreams warn me that too much waiting is its own kind of surrender, surrendering beyond your deeper pupose Those unfinished dreams warn me half-effort rots my dreams fast right befre it was even tested, a purpose you knew it was right Those unfinished dreams warn me victories and applause are never your gifts—but they are debts paid in sweat, a longing that is never even worth it Those unfinished dreams warn me that shortcuts look golden until they shatter suddenly under weight that no kind of way to be rescued...
Those silent mornings build me like shadows are stretched long whenever darkness strikes like unforseen ways Those silent mornings build me like slow scaffoldings raised in the dark where you couldn't see the support below Those silent mornings build me where there is no audience, no kind of guide not even whispers but only repetition, Those silent mornings build resilience to become stronger so when life strikes, I don’t crumble but still hold on.
Those constants are training me, tells me strength doesn’t clock out, there are no kind of reverse breaks for that kind of spirit, Those constants are training me, tells me even those rests are borrowed, shaped to feed even on tomorrow’s fire, tomorrow's drought Those constants are training me, tells me luck is even powerless against the prepared, nothing compared to the fight you've been through Those constants are training me, tells me victory isn’t too sudden—it’s stitched quietly, with efforts of day after day...
Those repetitve focus reveals to me storms are like sermons written in lightning through rain, written in sun through sunsets Those repetitve focus reveals to me every kind of bruise is a verse carved into my armor, my armour of dexterityand strength Those repetitve focus reveals to me sweat is the prayer where I can give to myfuture I've been begging to meet, Those repetitve focus reveals to me a kind of readiness itself where it is love—the proof that I will not abandon myself through good and bad days ahead...
Watchwords: • Hard winters shapes without mercy • Unfinished dreams warn without any kind of pity • Silent mornings also build without any form of witness • Hard training never sleeps • Eagerness to accept is love for myself
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream:
“As you are still the Master of your destiny and the maker of your dreams…”
