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Image Credit: Eureka Street

Every evening, I come back home
Blood is stuck in veins, no mood to dine.
Whole day, working without a pause
Painting and painting until the time for home.
While returning, my heart is fine
When I step towards the home, it is a lost cause.

“You’re good for nothing.”
“I educated you just in vain.”
Every night, I’m blessed with these lines.
“Uneducated person is earning something.”
“You, educated person, wasting time in vain.”
My heart is sliced with these lines.

He is in an illusion.
Who could clarify his ambiguous sentiment?
To be educated is to avail a job, to his brain.
Job, job, and job, no hope to kill his illusion.
Days are becoming a solid as by cement,
Household problem,  adding as a buggy of train.

Earning money, earning money, lacerated my ears.
I shall rather hold the hot iron than his sermon.
Whatever I earn, goes in a futile way.
My father’s words are a source to my tears.
In a pavement, I can sleep under the moon.

But, hapless, my heart, bleeding in a futile way.

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