Sometimes victory doesn't taste like victory...

Sometimes victory doesn't taste like victory... It tastes metallic like blood. Having been beaten several times on the jaws and the lips, winning, at last, does taste like blood. Sometimes victory doesn't look victory. It looks swollen like a battered face. But it's still victory, isn't it? Victory sometimes doesn't walk upright, it moves slowly like a crippled and limping man. Yes, it's still victory but hard-won victory. It looks tired and wasted. It is emaciated and bony. After years of deprivation and starvation, victory will arrive when the body has deteriorated. Sometimes, victory doesn't smell sweetly like a scented flower. It has a stench smell of sweat and tears. A repelling smell that not many are keen to be associated with it. An odour that is offensive to some. After years of recurring droughts and deferred rains, it smells like wet soil. Indulging perfume to farmers. Sometimes victory doesn't fly faster and high like a Boeing. It just moves slowly and reluctantly like a tractor on freshly tilled earth. Sometimes victory doesn't look like cushions, it looks like a big crashing hammer that grinds and crashes. It looks like huge and tough granite rocks that hide small gems. It looks like a hard helmet, metal top safety shoes, and shiny overalls... After years of sleepless nights and restless days, victory sometimes looks like a small piece of paper emboldening everything. A very small paper not befitting the books read and knowledge internalised. Having gone thirsty for days, victory looks like a glass of water, not a reservoir. Sometimes victory doesn't feel like a warm jacuzzi. It feels like ice and snow after skating and skiing. But victory is still victory. Victory sometimes doesn't look like millions of descendants who will fill the earth, instead, it looks like just one son of the promise. Victory doesn't look like a smile, it sounds like piercing labour cries. Labour cries that aren't important. Nobody listens to them. They watch in anticipation as you're wriggling in agony. They are expectant as you're pained. Out of your pain comes everyone's gain. Sometimes it doesn't look like a thousand miles. It just looks like a span. Add more spans on the initial span and see victory. Wipe the bloodied nose and smell victory. Remove the blinkers, see and appreciate victory in its many forms and formats.