Being a man is tough,
Neither can he stop,
Neither can he walk.
A path full of blocks.
Not a block of pebbles,
But a block of stones,
Every step he gives further,
Determines the every moves in his life.
And one error, there goes,
Full mistakes and losing.
Might be friends he spend with,
Or might be the family he earns for,
As the dark side is seen by few,
Where he grew,
All alone from childhood.
In the place he stood,
But he cries too with one shoe,
Hoping for a road of flowers,
Where he can run and not walk.
Pain made him stronger,
Now he could conqueror,
And take along his family happily.
With a daughter in his hand,
And a wife on left,
And taking the woman who gave him birth on top.
The darkness is seen only by two feet,
Where he steps in the path of thorns,
With bruises around which could be found by none,
Neither heard by any.
The pain of every step,
As that's the wound he would carry,
The wound that describes him,
Touched by few and seen by many.
© ara_momi124