Outside A Cover Inside A Book

A kicking at the chicken yard and a rain of pecking therein could very well describe the torment that is our lives, sometimes.

Life may not treat me well, but it is not about me. You see, I may not be who I think I am and the characters of life will treat me for what they perceive me to be. The ‘Ugly Duckling’ was ugly in the eyes of the whole brood at the chicken pen – and in his very own too.

Life may not know who I will be in the morrow, and lord it over me for who I am today; Joseph, of Potiphar’s house, was not a guest to this experience.

My lot is to fight; not with swords and clubs and teeth, but with valiant deeds of love, and with an excellent heart!

It is so because life is a gift. Bitterness is not a colour my picture should dorn, neither is rage the kind of shoes my feet should wear.

The duckling, feeling all ugly and unworthy about the sound from his throat, realised he was but a handsome swan; Joseph, a slave and a convict, rose to come second in command after Pharaoh.

You my friend, in spite of your circumstances, are a rose – about to unfurl.


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