A bubble am I, When in trouble, To complain I like, Of life having spikes, People do not understand, The agony I withstand.
The food is not suitable, For me who is capable, Underestimation is traumatic, For me who is dramatic, I evolve into anything, For people, I do something, Meant for physical work is not me, Economy high is all that I see.
I fast for Dev Lok, It is a long-laid stroke, Bubbling into anger, A seething strangler, I want to erase the bubble, I want me out of trouble.
A poem from ‘Serenading Poems Part One’ copyrighted @ 2022
