While life truthfully appears to be,
an enemy attired as a friend,
it never fails to delude me,
I misconstrue every message it sends.
Every choice I was deliberately given,
seemed vague and far from clear,
and the actions I consequently made,
were rash and hasty and queer.
Every road I was led to tread,
seemed dark at broad day light,
does it matter if I willingly take,
the road to the left or that to the right?
Amongst all the deluded beings,
who happen to fall into my limited sight,
the ones who humored me the most,
were those who assured they got it right.
A puppet I am helpless yet proud,
strings attached to the eye and the ear ,
an’ I love and hate and talk out loud,
at the will of a mighty puppeteer.
But the strings get strained an’ I honestly hurt,
as I struggle to loosen up the stress.
if I give in; I’ll lose my ego and pride,
if I fight back; I end up in a rickety mess.
Don’t feel sorry for me or even try,
to speak with wisdoms monotonous voice,
for the puppeteer has always granted me,
what’s called “the freedom of choice.”
A. L. Gomaa 21st of September 2006