I long to choose..
Choose to be..
Choose to feel..
I was born with the gift to produce life…
I feel torn that I can’t produce life…
I long to choose…
Choose to be…
Choose to feel…
Am I wrong to choose?
Am I wronged? By whom?
My brain is thronged with thoughts.
My misery, prolonged and prolonged…
I’d love to live..
To live and be..
To love this world..
To love him and her…
But,
I was born with the gift to produce life…
I feel torn that I can’t produce life…
This bubble of pain..
There is no drain…
I am looked upon with disdain
Why? What do they gain?
Gain from my misery?
My misery, prolonged and prolonged…
I was born with the gift to produce life…
I feel torn that I can’t produce life…
But I choose to choose..
Choose to be happy..
Choose to be content..
I choose my sanity…
I am a life too…
Someone produced me!
So, I choose…
I choose to live and love…
Let it happen…
Happen when it happens…
Let me live… just… live…
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Spicy Rasam 