The Working Man

The night beckons, and like one hypnotized
I go stumbling towards its doors;
The darkness somehow seems comforting,
The lure of oblivion too irresistible to ignore.

Do I go to the doors of death?
Well, no one can tell what future has in store;
For all I know, I go to my room,
Tired after a day of hardships galore.

All dreams have been swept away long back,
It’s only work now that I have in my mind;
The daily grind juices out all feelings,
Even a smile is now hard to find.

All day, the competition snaps at my back,
Frantic do I run to keep them at bay;
Clutching on to all the options I find,
To keep the opportunities from fading away.

A rare praise brings a momentary sunshine,
Which immediately is clouded over;
For the expectations rise to insurmountable heights,
Fail to meet them, and your days are over.

The world seems a blur now, and with unseeing eyes,
I go forth to my personal war zone each day;
Planning all the while what all to do,
Where all to go, what all to say.

Sometimes I feel, was I born for this?
No answer does my heart provide,
For in truth, there’s no other goal
No other place where it would abide.

So I return at the end of the day,
With my tired limbs and eyes aching in pain;
And I throw myself into the arms of darkness
To be able to face tomorrow again.