His head hangs grave,
Sweat drains from every pore.
The bag seems heavy; the tag burdens his neck,
He seems a wreck.
Sapped, drained, tired he walks.
The world is winning, His head is spinning
This can’t be happening….
He reached his ‘purpose’ every day,
Calls, mails and meetings cast a dark overshadow every way,
He sips on the brown colored water,
A sorry excuse for the nectar of Gods.
He eats his meal,
It fights its way out, he fights it down.
He wins in the end….??
This can’t be happening….
Eyes blurred, emblazoning a lack of sleep,
His hair’s a mess, the gel can’t keep,
His back is sore; the bag isn’t light after all,
The day started with traffic and a snarl,
But now…he seems too tired to even change expression
He longs for the rum to bout the onset of depression.
The day is long; It’s been not on song,
This can’t be happening….
Sleep eludes, its runs the distant run
He chases it….in vain
The crack of dawn says it’s time once again,
To take up the path where glory has never gone,
It has being going on too long
It is happening…once again!
Thoughts! 
Posted by Satyam on August 30, 2012 at 9:54 AM
Tiss sad……..yet we must hold on to hope………..for it is a mean bitch and a fiesty one and it surrenders itself only to the strongest one.
Posted by Prateek on September 1, 2012 at 3:37 PM
Word…cudn’t have put it better myself.