He put the poem into the pocket of his shirt and slunk back into his room without anyone noticing him. That night he had not had much sleep. He was so exhilarated that his thoughts carried him to uncharted territory, spurring his imagination and enfolded him in its sweetness, which he never wanted to break through. The verses of his poem swarmed endlessly in his head. They were amateurish, but the poem was the most honest, coming straight from his heart, created out of love. He muttered the verses like a prayer time and again and supplicated God to give him courage. This was his baptism of fire which he had to go through and prove that he was a man. He would not be waiting to become old and grieve over his own cowardice until his last breath.