PUERILE

We’ve to Race against the wind, Have to get up in one... ring
Nine to five we are kept busy & agile
You Play with our rights, keeps things cut throat & tight...
As everyone says… you (Mr. Boss) are always right

We suffer pain, get broken in game…Still you smile & live…king size
Staring Azure & sidereal sky
Stifled in the heart, blown up in life....
All we want …. Is a place to rest & calm our livid minds

Pristine by style… Still you remain petulant & parochial towards our life...
All we can say… you are “Woods” of the game. (“It’s all about work…honey!!).
We are green & never feature on main screen...

Get up, Gear up…listen to your heart & emulate ….
Time to be puerile by heart & smart in the game.......
Bid adieu to Mr. Boss & its mundane...fixtures of the day..
It’s your style-don’t give up... No matter what world says
It’s your life- think & move ahead
It’s your life- think & move ahead


Note- You in the poem refers to Mr. Boss