The Age of Eightteen



Is Eighteen a Torment?

Is eighteen a torment,

Daring enough to risk raising its head high?

At eighteen, audacity peeks endlessly,

With courage that touches the sky.

Eighteen knows no fear,

It aims to shatter barriers with a stomping stride.

At this age, no head bows in defeat—

Eighteen does not know how to hide.

This age knows the virtue of bloodshed,

Like a steamer surging through the steam.

The pouch of life and death is never empty,

It plunges into the roar of vows and dream.

Eighteen is dangerous,

Its vibrant spirit bears unbearable pain.

At this age, life is fierce and sharp,

And whispers of suffering echo in its brain.

Eighteen is unstoppable,

It stirs many storms across every land.

Holding steady in disaster is hard—

Thousands fall from fate's cruel hand.

At eighteen, strikes come relentless,

Blows gather in silence, one by one.

This age sighs a thousand black sorrows,

And trembles in grief until it’s done.

Yet still, I've heard cheers for eighteen,

It survives through trials and storms.

It leads in the face of danger,

And creates the new, breaking norms.

This age is no coward, no timid heart,

It never halts on the path it walks.

So eighteen holds no room for doubt—

Let eighteen march on this land, as it talks.