An old poem…..Copying here
Do you have spare happiness i can borrow..
I stood here playing my life’s symphony
Entire life i spent looking for someones sympathy
I am not a saint you can trust
Soon my mask might go Bust
Greatness was never my calling
i was not walking..i was crawling
I just did what was right as per me
Saint is what i never thought i could be
Greatness is what you thrust on me
I said No but you had our trust on me
Maybe i am a victim of expectation
My Rise was due to your exaggeration
No its not your fault,what its come to be
its just that its just not me
why have you made a good deed an exception…
why doing right is never an expectation..
inside i still am the same,,,
a weakling and lame..
I carve for sympathy and love the attention…
I think thats made me do a lot of pretention…
I dont do whats right because it will spoil my image
you gave me something that i cannot manage..
I am a weakling and not a leader of masses….
i can barely walk and u expect me to rise from ashes..
the only thing i learned from this is
there is something terribly amiss…
Violence and greed is what gets you to ways..
we have lost our good old days