Predicament ...

Doesn’t matter how much I try
a life would always remain a life,
full of weeping and sobbing
with the bumps
of trials and tribulations!
And you can’t even complaint, for
they would say – that’s what life is, fight!
My limbs ache, my head throb,
my knees bend, my eyes blur.
Yet they command me to hold on.
I try; with new shades and fragrance.
But
there is always a
a screaming sun,
a withered tree,
a forlorn kite,
a barren sky
and a mirthless never-ending space,
along with all the
‘why’, ‘where to’, ‘for whom’.
The day rushes
wrapped in dins and bustle,
hoot and rattle,
fatigued and frazzled.
Then night comes
to rake over
all the wounds
and sores of the day.
I am tired.
I want to rest.
But I can’t even go away,
for they will call me an escapist!