Sitting on the rocks,
with tears in my eyes,
and frustrated with my life,
because it has become a store of lies.
The taunts of parents just hits hard,
but later realising it is their love,
to make me a person,
with a house and beside a small yard.
Does not know,
what to do in life,
go and be a singer,
or stab the stomach with a knife.
Now the friends have also refused
to lend me money,
and this rejection just feels,
to forget about dignity and sell honey.
Can’t even buy anything,
because I have an empty pocket,
but this ego comes in between,
when it comes to repairing a socket.
Friends have got packages of lakhs,
but Iam sitting on the sofa,
crying in the bathroom,
and placing clothes on racks.
Have lost everything,
even whom I loved with no lust,
and my love has flown away,
with swift of air and storm of dust.
Leaving a letter on the table,
Iam leaving this world,
Because if I can’t be a singer,
I can still have my last bottle of Green label.
The poetry is the beautiful expression of longing, peer pressure, societal expectations and consequences of those on a child mental health.