Success, The Antagonist Poem by Pushp Sirohi

Success arrived politely.
No weapons.
Only a handshake and a schedule.

It praised my discipline,
then rearranged my days
until curiosity had no chair left.

It gave me mirrors—
clean ones—
where I slowly learned to admire
only what could be measured.

Success did not steal my voice.
It taught me which words
were safe to keep.

It clapped when I complied,
called it growth,
and replaced my questions
with targets.

Friends became "distractions."
Silence became "focus."
Joy was postponed
with a promise.

Success never demanded betrayal.
It simply rewarded distance
until love learned to wait quietly
outside the room.

I stopped failing publicly.
I stopped living privately.

Every night,
Success tucked me in
with tomorrow's checklist
and the soft lie
that this was freedom.

One day I asked it
what happens when I arrive.

Success smiled—
the way systems smile—
and showed me a longer road.

That was the moment I understood:
Success does not want you fulfilled.
It wants you occupied.

So I left—
not loudly,
not bitter.

I left with nothing to prove,
and everything still intact
that it never noticed.