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We are all stories at the end

We are all stories at the end

We start from cell to become a complex tissue,
We are facing many of life’s issues.
All are full of joy,
I’m not a child, I am a boy.

I’m in a dilemma, will this differentiate my life?
Yeah, a boy has to walk on the blade of a knife.
I come with a cry, and the only day they appreciate it,
And then you are a boy, and boys don’t cry this is the biggest hit.

From childhood to adulthood, they teach me many things,
You have to do a certain job, doesn’t matter you want to dance or sing.
You have to be strong, suppress your emotions, become a defender,
You are a man, don’t do a blunder.

It’s your 11th, take science,
Now do graduation,
We don’t give you permission for your likes, they’re just hallucination.

For us, life is divided into phases,
We won’t live, we run like races.
We live our life for parents first,
Then for wife,
And then for children,
Meanwhile, we are quiet; and our dreams are somewhere hidden.

No one understands us, they all think we are merry,
For them, men’s life is ‘as sweet as a cherry’.
“From babyhood, we’re brought up by learning yo respect opposite gender for no reason,
Whether they’re still or change like a season”;
“love them, you are men, your everything is unconditional,
But we are men and for us, everything comes with condition”.

“Every men’s life ends in the same way,
We don’t have greenery, it’s just like hay.
We take the burden of family, we take care of others,
It’s just how we lived and how we died that distinguish one man from another.
We have to earn for living at any cost,
That’s why the number of men’s suicide is the most.

Parents give us freedom and more money,
But we are bounded to repay and make work honey.
We have to work, work hard to live in a society,
We are someone mighty.
We spend our whole life to make our beloved one’s life happy, we live for others;
Nobody comes in our down, When we need someone we are our father and mother.

We do many things but remain silent,
When we talk about our emotions society gets violent.
We are forgotten, our things are ignored,
We are judged by horde.
In the end, we all are just story,
Only those men are reminded which have some glory.

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About The Author

Tanuj Sharma

A young mind with pen and thoughts. Avid reader and writer. Poetry and literature. I write to feel emotion. I am a light struggling to never become dim.

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