I will speak when I wish to, because that is what you do.
All of you with your life-plans, with broken dreams of caravans
The blooming flowers and those withering, all of them, listlessly seeing,
Some are born with luck and friends,
Some are luckless fiends.
My mind is yours, and yours is mine
We are alike, both you and I.
Inspite all your differences, and your affirmation that a bank balance never lies.
I might be penniless and in despair, but then so are you,
With your full houses, and content lives, we’re still alike
Me and you.
I’m folding into myself, like a mountain building myself,
Sturdy, to take the pounding that will come inevitably.
Are you rich? In money, in values or in dreams?
Or are you poor, with no hopes?
Doesn’t matter, you’re still like me.
Do you pity me, ranting away at midnight, from the comfort of your blankets?
Or are you shivering by a windowsill, relieved that someone there
Is just like you.