A Man.

A man he was, who had to hide his pain.

‘Why?’, you ask; because society said!

‘Be a man, stay strong.’ Is all he hears.

With tired eyes and drenched in fear,

Tell me how will he move on?


For all the wicked dreams’,

Telling him the same thing,

Over and over the agony.

To the broken pieces and the shattered dream,

He is a man in his fifties.


I see him in all,

 at my place or in the crowd.

I feel his pain,

The blood and tears unsaid.

 ‘But he is strong’, they say.


Shivering I see,

Gritting I hear,

His struggle is clear.

But what do I say to all these blind eyes?

how do I explain this ache inside?


It feels like losing a war, you’ve never fought.

When your heart drops ten meters in your guts.

I am screaming while sinking into the quicksand.

There is no exit but hope is all I have,

‘Stop acting like a girl’, is what they say.


‘Aren’t we all just humans?’ he questions.

‘Is my fear so supernatural?’.

‘Am I not supposed to have feelings?’.

‘Should I always be the one silently weeping’.



He is tired, scared and disgusted of the same notion.

He wants to give up, jump off.

Leave behind the pain forever.

He is done with all the pushing,

Twisting a knife is easy,


All these thoughts swirling around,

‘Enough is enough’, he says.

‘I will not endure this anymore’.

‘I will not die every second that I live’.

‘I will conquer or let go because forever seems like a long road’.










How do you describe a person? Do you mention their hair, their eyes, nose, mouth, height, thin/fat? Does that help us to picture them, picture their character? Does that help us in knowing who they are, or is it just our artificial way of describing someone because we are too shallow or too scared to know the real person behind those layers of deceiving information. Is a human just what his/her features or are we more than that? Are we beyond the illusion of skin, name, face, region, religion?


I often wonder that do we know the people with whom we spend our lives with? Our friends, neighbors, family or we just assume who they are. Knowing your best friend’s birthday doesn’t means that you know who that person is. We assume we know, we assume their struggles. ‘we assume’.


Everyone like to think of themselves as special, as something good, something right. Someone who is the center of the universe. My life matters, everything that is happening around here is happening for me. Everything is me. We don’t realize that it’s not true. Lies, lies, lies. It’s all we are and all we tell each other and ourselves. Most of us don’t even take time to look at ourselves or some of us are too scared to know of the kind of person they are.


 We like to live a life and look at it the way we want and not in a way it is. And what a horrifying place is this? Everyone is trying to be good for themselves. Looking after themselves, drenched in our feeling to even try understand others. Always looking at our goodwill and how someone is doing wrong to us but too scared to see what we are doing to others. My problem is huge. Others shouldn’t have problem with having their minimal, non-existing problems.


It’s all just about me, me, me.


 ==>     A little bit of me.    <==

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