Imagine a broad street.
Now imagine a protest of sorts. Done? Now, un-imagine the crowd that you already saw, when I said protest. Just one person, walking through the middle of the street; a flag, of no denomination; at least not the kind that would offend, fluttering, the way a flag should.
That one person will always lose, will be defeated: sheerly by her lonely presence against a mindless force. But she has options. All she has to do is not run away. Her heart beating fast of the hurting horrors to come. Of the profuse sweat that is warning her to take flight. The guarantee that she will be defeated – staring at her – menacing faces, who have no sense of sense; no feeling. And she will be defeated for sure.
Courage doesn’t guarantee victory.
Why do people with courage fight? Courage is no guarantee of victory. Why do they fight a fight that’s already lost? And what of the people who have lost courage? I see them standing, along with the courageous. Fearful, but willing to fight. Their eyes are different. They aren’t looking at the senseless soldiers waiting to annihilate them.
Those eyes tell me of a fight within. The soldiers they stand against are just a placeholder.
They’ll charge. With such shrill battle-cries that the forest begins to tremble. With nothing to lose. With battle-axes and broad-swords. They’ll crush and slash all that comes their way. Blind warriors. With each enemy soldier that they slash, mercilessly, a battle within, is being won.
Courage is no guarantee of victory.
Courage is a device of not giving up. Till death do me and my courage apart.