All paths we take were by sorrow begotten:
A price we pay for forsaking God’s Garden.
Fortuna secretly against all men conspire.
But resilience—is not too tough to acquire.
Sculpting water, the strong rocks abrase.
Small deceptions, our expectations blaze:
An unforeseen rain, a missed, early train.
The practice of resilience is never in vain.
Distance yourself from worthless praise.
If lies they spew; strangers scorn at you,
Don't resent, stand; don’t let hatred brew.
Be resilient! And you’ll never fall through.
Suffering is freely given for men’s dismay,
To rehearse and to act life’s five-part play:
Tragedy, comedy, romance, opera, ballet.
Resilience can keep mind villains at bay.
But resilience won’t make your life brighter.
Or to your dormant, old dreams spark a fire.
Gradually—your heavy load will feel lighter.
Your ‘suffer-muscle’ steadily gets mightier.
Be resilient, and it will be under your sway:
Simple problems that you’ll be able to slay.
Late worries will no longer your mind weigh.
Resilience is the modern man's secret pray.
First time I saw you, the angels sang in choir!
Last time I saw you, angrily I broke their lyres.
But I used resilience; I said ‘adieu’ as required.
Losing you: tiny rock in my shoe, felt so minor.
Fortuna knocks at the front door, and at will,
Sorrows she wishes to spread among mile—
She has a bitter truth to the fool’s heart chill:
—“The gift of resilience is only given to few!”
. . . .