Son, you will cry
As it starts from a simple pimple,
It’s nothing and as i look at it I smile with a dimple
But the look in mama’s face tells a tale not that little
The shake in her head and the worried look worsens in triples
As the simple pimple transforms to a bulgy boil,
With dexterity of the immunization doctor she examines my groin
Squeezes the bulge and as the contents ooze I recoil
In pain but when eye meets eye, son with nerves in turmoil
Tells mum, “mum I won’t cry!”
Grimace and smile together on one facade not shy
To correct, mama tells son,
Son, you will cry.
With stone or human, in love you’ll never escape to fall,
That person you think about night and day and your wits stall,
Whenever she whispers in your ears, you take her to many a mall
And to make her happy you will turn every stone, big and small
But the sensual touch, the warm praising voice, the late night calls
Were never yours alone and it’s your first time, the feeling is worse than all
And son, you will cry!
Fascinated by the candle light, swing my fingers through it
But fire is fire, burns whether or not beautifully lit,
Finite toughness of men tells me you can’t cry for that bit
But son, when your pride makes you stand with sword and shield in the pitch
To fight the burly bully of the pits,
The bashing will leave your jaw toothless and on yourself you will piss
As every effort, every suck from the deepest and last of motivation’s tits
Ebbs away consumed by malevolent watching eyes eager for the loss of teeth
And so does the effort of proving yourself a man as every target misses hit!
And with bruised ego and wounded dignity, you call for truce
“Mercy!!” “Mercy!!” are the only syllables in your word bank of truth
Son, you will cry!
Vrooooom! The imaginary car glides along the dusty infertile soil
The kid spins the top of the bottle of the used oil,
Mama watching, face is confused between pride and despondency’s recoil
Pride, oh the guy is growing
Despondency, the future is not easy knowing.
Noticing the crystal of tear streaming along the wrinkles; indicators of toil n moil
Son, tells mama “one day I will drive you in my Rolls Royce
And we will never cry”
Son, watch out for three words,
When the poor get consumed in their misery, that’s destitution
When the rich get richer in their insolence and protected by a document, that’s constitution
And when people have to use what they have to get what they don’t, that’s prostitution
Caught in any of them, dreams shatter
And men fill the obituary data
Before accomplishing any matter
You wish for a car, son, three words stop your leg’s clatter,
And son, you will cry!
So, son, cry now in the arms of mama,
Coz soon life will be devoid of quails and manna.
That you’re the best is not close to absolute
There will be always someone better, someone greater, sweeter, someone rather cute
That someone will never be you, and that’s the truth
Cry now, gather the strength in a manner
To handle the milestones as age you garner