Art Of Experiences

New wounds are created
While the old scars cluster up
And form a memory.
We call them experience.
And while this happens, we make
Ourselves, fit to accept or deject,
Resigning to our own fate
Or fighting alone.
What is right?
Can we fight the fate?
Or shall we be submissive to
The ticking of a clock
And turning of calenders?
Every wound teach us
To be an artist
And we wonder why all the greatest artists
Have faced greatest sorrows,
When recalling the history.
When you are unique
No one can help you
You are helplessly unique
And the only best luck you have
Are your bad times
For they make you experienced
And turn your experiences into your art
And you end up exposing
The worst truths of life
To your audience
As you descend down the path of evolution
With immortality of your work.