Complaints, a poem by Abhinav Aradhi

 

Complaints

Sometimes I curse this life,

For being so damned kind.

There’s no point in complaining

When everything’s oh-so sublime.

 

I’m selfish, I’m greedy, I’m malevolent.

I want to be able to complain, to bitch.

To whine about lord knows what

And recive the shining glitz of sympathy.

 

Oh how I pine for the spilling of woes.

The caution thrown to the wind,

The utter thrill of a groan.

That’s the beauty of it all.

 

There’s so much wrong with me,

But not much I can share.

I’m still upper-middle class,

And a lazy, good for nothing ass.

 

My parents tell me, we love you,

My relative tell me, we love you,

My friends tell me, we like you.

Is all that true? Where’s the veracity?

 

Futility is omnipresent,

Yet it shouldn’t be.

Hopelessness reigns dominant,

Yet it should be submissive and meek.

 

Pandora’s box opened in my life,

And so, I fell into despair.

At the end of my lovely fairytale

There is only anguish.