I do some odd jobs just because of some money,
But Jobs are boring and killing creativity of mine,
I hate to obey someone’s order,
I hate to restrict myself within the boundary make by other.
Job never gives me satisfaction,
Writing gives me pleaser,
but no enough wealth for bread and butter . . .
Stories satisfy my creativity,
I get claps and appreciation,
But I don’t get money to survive this material Nation…
With empty stomach I write some poem and stories,
Nights after nights passed with some characters,
I narrate my all emotion and imagination in pen and paper,
Without even reading it Publishers send me rejection letters…
Parents want money now,
Girlfriend’s parents need a service,
But who convince my heart,
who has found happiness from stories . . .
I’m an idiot now say my friends,
And I’m a Rascal for my parents,
My classmates now become job holder,
Proudly mention designation of them in Facebook and twitter,
They wear tie and put their company identity card with honor,
Talking about their meeting, targets and workloads,
But still I’m just a struggling writer…
2 thoughts on “A struggling writer”
Hey, i can connect with you…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks a lot for appreciate my poem.