God of Volatile Things

 

Born in the storm

Abandoned by your parents

You grow older alone

Missing them, their love, care and affection

The world is bitter at you

It doesn’t care about your orphan archetype

It wants you to be ready at any cost

On the slippery roads of future

You are pricked by thorns of expectations

You bleed daily, yet you learn to remain calm

No other choice you have to satisfy your soul

Demand of survival looms larger

Let people stare at you

Wonder at your equanimity

Who are waiting to see the volatile you

Concoct a smile, walk down the road

Whisper to the darkness surrounding you

“I’m the prince of storms.”

 

 

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