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.