A glorious son of the family
Taken as the embellishment automatically Is also the bread earner wearily
Even if he likes it a wee bit nonchalantly.
Then fun is a questionable repertoire of audacity
As his hours should only revolve around attainability
Of material needs who eventually leaves the city
Thus who knows in heaven/hell he earns a place of never-ending antiquity.
He corks up the desires more if the spell of penury
Hits so hard that it shakes the insides with fury
Some giving in to the dark hours of debauchery
And some live it up with an unflinching zeal of chivalry.
Emotions don’t stand a chance
Life is a pressured woeful dance
Celebrating nothing is the only stance
Till the gods open the flood gates of abundance.
(courtesy: the unfortunate boy/brother/husband/father on the streets)
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