Working hard is an art Working hard is a duty The call of duty that's Updated every day It's obvious If we want to eat the fruits of the garden of God We've to work hard cause Good things don't come from comfort zones It's just like Food wars passion and hard work But no Not at all should we be in speed The kind of Need for speed with hot pursuit The importance is the destination How far you go NOT how fast you go Surely the evil is there You will believe you are in Resident Evil mission But trust me ; look not for monsters Look for human monsters not to **** but avoid and warn against In my long run of life I had to travel deserts i said to myself O my God !! Desert Storm and they are all here Bradely - my spirit Foley/ Sheerman - my soul Conors - my body Jones - my hard work Even when i had crossed the desert , battles were not over , are we in Battlefield till the end And somebody told me better were in Infinity war so far as we breathing No End game Life without Hard work Motivation and God's Courage Is far more frightening than: Thanos with the 6 Infinite stones ,or Galactus at the peak of his Strength and Might.
Life is real Everyday is now and gone So let's act now and not tomorrow
So this very amazing and speaking to video games and film fans , if you such a person make him read it it's more in his language as yours
Swirls of golden smoke rose slowly from my blazing coffee ***. The dusty car at a distance slithered and crawled up the winding road. Sitting in the shack I watched the sand snaking its way up, keeping pace with the car and pelting it with sand particles as if it held a grudge against the driver. I had planned to go dune bashing but for the ominous tone of the desert.
The next day morning remnants of what the desert spat out, the sand particles consume me. I am cloaked with gloves of voluminous dust. I take another sip of coffee. The pungent aroma of the milieu and coffee leaves me breathless. The greens are choked and there is sand art on pavements outside.
I try to remove the sand on my hair as I wipe the aurulent sheen on the window pane. A bunch of men wipes the dust from the tables and chairs in the opposite shack. An old dusty car crawls to a halt and parks, blaring the music of Led Zepplin.