Common Man

Filthy

Characters are fixed
In the books which tell stories.
It’s either who relish luxury,
Called ‘The elite’
Or the unfortunate poor with not much worries.

I am a common man
Not privileged with the power of money,
Or sound sleep.
In the world so unfair,
There are no stories of mine; neither sad nor funny.

With body suffering with agitation,
I twist and tussle in my bed.
Currencies remain fixed in my pockets,
Whether I work as a labor or employee,
Under a shelter or no shed.

I am unable to read the lines on my palm,
A future, blithe or vile?
A few dollars is all I have saved,
Let me live with it,
No more I can take cunning guile.

In a world so filthy and mean
I want to inhale the air of sanity.
With every sweat I shed,
I dream to build a divine nation
Replacing caste, color, creed with pure humanity.

I dream big to make the world great,
Support my way; together let’s make a plan.
Neither give me names nor call me rogue;
Write my story with a title,
‘I am a common man’.