God! Why was I born?
You knew always, that the life was a thorn.
My being to be spoiled, the devil has sworn.
Making its way, deeper into my flesh.
Weeping and nagging, still no time to mourn.
God! Why was I born?

I will be fine, the chances were bleak.
Cripple or blind, or just could be week.
Nine months, in a sack,
Defenseless and brains, I lack.
Given the hardships and pain of birth.
Just to land myself,on this filthy earth.
Crying out loud, people having a laugh.
Satan is smirking, holding his staff.
Handling, mishandling, its all up to them.
That's for sure, I was born a gem.

Was this your plan?
To throw me to vultures, out in this lawn?
God! Why was I born?

I get scared, of the time I get sense.,
Older I grow, fears grow that dense.
If I am a Hindu, can't eat beef.
Muslim or Jew, there ain't no grief.
Worship an idol, and I'll burn in hell,
If I don't worship, won't ring your bell.
Higher the status, lower the emotions.
Lower if me, there are no promotions.
My skin is black, and I am a slave.
Ought to be beaten, should live in cave.

Was this your plan?
To confuse me to bones, and make me scorn.
God! Why was I born?

In teenage, I'll be a mix of feelings.
Rebel, respect, some love and squealing.
If I am a boy, shown world as my kingdom,
Turning out to be a girl, means I don't have my wisdom.
People decide, the way I dress and talk,
Its dark outside, I can't take a walk.
The chances are high, I'll be a thief or junky.
Turn on from the guns and be a powder monkey.
I am drifted afar, from you and your light.
Fumbling in world, leaving your sight.

Was that your plan?
To push in dark, and see me be torn.
God! Why was I born?

The fight gets tougher, I need to earn bread,
Carve to hold the money, as if I am a tread.
I'll be rejected, telling I am disgusting.
Could be ending my life, painful and rusting.
I may be raped, ending my day at job.
Or could easily be teased, by a tom, dick or bob.
I'll be tortured, by my spouse or in-laws.
Or could be my folks, not letting me out of their paws.
I'll remember you a day, in a week or twice.
Inclined most to the world, having a tag of price.

Was this your plan?
To make me be ashamed of myself, like a sheep half shorn.
God! Why was I born?

My child will fight me, as I dig deeper into world.
They demand more money, my life would be curled.
People I command, may not be satisfied.
My bosses don't trust me, won't let me decide.
Who will leave, who will stay.
They'll keep the credit and, make me grey.
I'll utter no word, as I want more money.
That's the reason, I'll try to be funny.
I might become a robber, and end up in jail.
Or could be a smuggler, trading cheetahs and whale.

Was this your plan?
To make me a machine, minting money from dusk to dawn.
God! Why was a I born?

I may survive, to see an old age.
Turn out to be a devil, when on my last page.
I crave for the riches, and fear of death.
Clinging to, so called, love ones, to my last breath.
I may get diseased, and fall on bed.
People counting my days, may want me dead.
I will try to remember you, but the mist would be thick.
Float away in illusions, and worldly trick.
I am afraid to die, and united with you.
Forgotten your colors, and just think its blue.

Was this your plan?
To make me fear you and world be adorn.
God! I don't want to be reborn.

-Abhishek

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