Did you make him a convict? Or considering as penance he is accepting Nobody knows the pain inside him is escalating. Fun, humour, prank, laughter These have been just few words Nothing more to him Pain is chasing him, and he chose tears To escape from the pain And to escape from the gloom, with few reluctant smirks as a gain. Time and again, loud guffaws pierce his ear ‘Has he been made a gullible, or is it just a temporary jeer ?’ On top of that, gossips and hearsays, ‘Has he been exploited ? No, he himself got it tainted.’ But inside him an ailing fire is burning. Life went upside down, and now it’s turning He’s been exhausted and tired All he wants is a peaceful rest Rest forever over a pyre, or maybe some kind of resurrection Because only he knows somewhere he’s breathing but not living.