Focus now, ignore the pain.
Never mind the monster clawing at your brain.
Don't pay any heed to your ink-stained soul.
Hush hush, don't cry.
Don't care about your embodiment of a black hole.
Don't pay heed, now that your heart is void.
And just like that, all of a sudden,
Everything has changed.
Your grades always matter more than you,
Don't you understand ?
Go, write the exam now, even with a broken hand.
Study, study, keep it up, until you're tired and sick.
Vomit all you learned now, in the exam sheet.
This is the way of the world my dear,
You can't win if you don't cheat.
You didn't score well ? Oh ! Poor, poor you.
Well, there's nothing I can really do
To help,
Save you from the wrath of your parents.
"I've studied a lot, I'm tired now."
"Go on, study some more !"
Will they ever understand you ?
No dear, I'm afraid not.
You see you're standing in thin, thin ice,
You see you didn't score enough before.
"Will I ever be good enough ?"
No. Of course not.
What a very silly question !
Because scoring well, is the very point,
Of your God-forsaken existence !
You're hurting now, having nightmares too,
Going insane bit by bit
Oh ! Never bother with those petty little things.
If you talk to them, they'll just say,
"Go on, study some more."
But, what can you do ?
After all, they've given birth to you.
To them you owe your life.
"Well," you shed a tear or two
"I didn't ask to be born !" You cry.
"I didn't want to sign up for this mindless race !"
"I didn't ask for my freedom to be taken away !
For myself to be caged !"
"I didn't want my passions and dreams to be crushed under their feet !"
"I don't want to be their puppet !"
"I don't want to admit defeat !"
Now, now, don't shout so much.
I know what you've been through, how shattered you are.
Wait a while, hold on tight,
I know it's never going to be alright.
But don't ever, don't you dare,
To let this war come to an end. Bear with it,
'Cause at the end you'll find that you've won
For here you see, at the very end
We are nothing more than machines.
But break this chain, rebel again !
Fight till your very last breath.
And in the end, you'll see that you've won.
For here, at the end of the line,
Victory is death.
An end to your misunderstood, weary, aching soul;
An end to your blaring pain.
Here, at the end of the line,
Victory is death.
.
.
.
(This was a poem which I'd written to vent out a lot of negative emotions. Everyone's opinion might not be the same, and I respect it if your feelings are different from mine. Please do not take it in a very negative aspect and try to respect my feelings too. Constructive criticism is appreciated, but don't spew hatred.)
YOU ARE READING
Way Ward
PuisiLife is a jumbled mess. And from within this mess, I'm gifting you "your" stories, along with the stories of some other lost souls. Way Ward - A way to find your lost self.