Dear Wanderers of the Earth : A Motivational Poem on Success

So, I have a poem for you today (shared at the end of the introduction).

First, lets talk about success! Success is something everyone is chasing after, hoping that with success, all their material desires will come true. Being successful has put a lot of strain on our generation, a burden we all carry with us even when we go to bed. Sometimes, we go too far and define success solely based on material output. For many, success means something grand, something that once achieved, sets off fireworks in the sky and elicits cheers and applause from onlookers. We strut around with our chests puffed out, feeling invincible.

But success doesn't have to be grandiose. It doesn't have to be unattainable or something one has to chase for a lifetime. It has to be something simple.

I'm not sure if we are born to be successful, but what I am sure of is that we are already successful in many ways since the birth. This motivational poem on success is dedicated to all of us, the wanderers of the earth, urging us to look at success differently and find pride in the little things we do, including breathing.

I hope you find something meaningful here. We don't want you to leave empty-handed.

PS: I took a little help of AI to make poem more rhythmic. I am not a Poet, so. Hope you don't mind.

Dear Wanderer

A Poem about Small Successes

The wrinkled man, each step a story untold,

Trudges the street, his shoulders weary and cold.

He lifts his foot, a simple act, yet profound,

Another step upon the earth, victory is found.

The lone bird circles, wings spread wide,

Alone against the endless, bright blue tide.

He sees the flock, a warmth he longs to share,

But chooses solitude, a burden he must bear.

He soars above them, reaching heights unknown,

His journey personal, a triumph of his own.

For success is not a mountain reaching high,

Nor a distant dream painted across the sky.

It's the ant who carries crumbs beyond its might,

The whispered victory in the dead of night.

We judge by scales too grand, forgetting small,

The mother's smile, the student's standing tall.

The bus he catches, the song he starts to hum,

Each triumph counts, a victory overcome.

The path to greatness may be walked alone,

No cheering crowds, no hand to hold your own.

But in the silence, when doubt begins to creep,

Remember why you started, plant your feet and leap.

Each footprint in the sand, a will to strive,

The small successes, pave the way to thrive.

So lift your chin, dear wanderer, and hold your head up high,

Because, in every step taken, true victories lie.