• simon_rock_pujari 26w

    He calls himself a self made man
    Working nine to five, as an office clerk

    Got married as soon as he got the job
    coz that's what being settled is called in the Indian society

    He smells stale, old and hopeless
    Shaves with the same old razor for the past thirteen years
    His children doesn't talk to him, neither he cares
    Goes to the office with a straight face
    follows the same orders that seem meaningless
    and pretends to be contented

    While on his way back home,
    stops at a liquor store
    buys a quarter pint of a cheap Rum
    You can call it his
    A birth right!

    Just like an unwanted pause to a happy song,
    the entire house halts to silence
    as soon as he walks through the door.

    His wife is in the kitchen
    The children are in their rooms with an AC
    (the only room in the house with an AC)

    Nobody has asked him yet,
    how life has treated him?
    his back pains, head aches and he smiles the saddest smile ever - when it really hurts
    A mark of his masculinity to prove the world that
    Men don't cry

    He has no future plans, life goals
    Well dreams there were a handful
    That got bound to the nine to five vintage clock of a government office
    which sometimes out of the blue,
    Goes late

    The way things have been with him,
    he is no more himself now
    but the reflection of the same old bloody vintage clock
    who trapped his dreams and gulped his entire youth
    vomiting old age in return as a gift!

    Only remembered, when it's needed
    Helplessly running and running
    serving it's purpose
    till the very last
    sunrise to sunset

    And when it finally stops working,
    gets replaced and forgotten
    normalizing changes

    like every other sad story....
    of every other common man


    ┬ęSimon bhusal