The Resume.

When I was young, curious and fun,

I often wondered why I am small, why I am none,

I dreamt of being the man in the coat,

I dreamt of being my own hope,

One I day I will be so big, so educated and Shit,

That I would be the saint, the misery won’t exist.

I dreamt of being a doctor, an engineer and an astronaut,

I wanted to be all, “why pick?” I often thought.

I had the fire in my chest, to do it all and never rest,

To be the the man that I dream, to be the man I knew best,

The time flew away in two chimes, it didn’t give any warning sign,

I was in my youth, the dreams didn’t matter, it was fine,

I learnt to survive with lessons inculcated,

I felt already with lesions of love, concentrated,

I had to choose at 16, which dream should I go for,

Which stream should I choose and hope for,

The percentage was important I learnt at last,

The dreams were discarded with a silent blast,

“What should I do?” I met anxiety,

“What should I choose? Why aren’t you guiding?”

The time again didn’t wait for me,

20 years of trouble were written on a sheet,

I took it to every person I knew,

Ruthless were more, the kinder were few,

I was a puppet willing to dance,

“Oh please, just give me one chance!”

I recited the phrase so much that It became my identity,

The struggle was useless without the necessary amenity,

The dreams were shackles of illusion,

“I am suppose to LIVE!” was the conclusion.

The night came when the childhood revisited,

It appeared screwed up, a little bit twisted,

“Why are you here? Let me work”

‘Oh just shut up, you idiotic duck,

Why are you quaking at the same pace?

Where is your passion, aren’t you disgraced?’

“You don’t know about the world, you are delusional,

You were an idiot to believe you have to snap out of your illusions”,

It mocked and mocked and the debate went on,

SURVIVAL! Became the motto and the passion was gone,

Why was I irritated with this jesting child,

“Let it grow up and it will abide”

But I knew at last the child was dead,

Resting in my heart in its delusional grave,

‘What happened to the man who dreamt to be the lion?’

“The man sold his sleep to buy some F’king coins”

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