In this world, a breed is found,
Of men by norms so tightly bound,
Who cook all day, yet fail to see,
They sit inside the pot, you see.
Now hear their tale, as told by me.

Once was born a little boy,
Raised to fit and not destroy,
Taught that strong he must remain,
That tears must never leave a stain,
Lest he be deemed a weaker man,
And so he hid, as he was planned.

This boy grew up, still framed in rules,
And like the others played the fools.
Under his parents’ softened gaze,
He found a wife to start his days,
And gave her all in love’s embrace.

Now his duty was made clear,
To work, to toil, year by year.
A well-paid job he sought and found,
And labored hard, forever bound,
So she would never want or fear.

In this world of men on trial,
He had to climb, to prove his style,
For failure meant his name defiled.
Trapped inside this spinning race,
He saw his time with her erased.

But still he thought, “I give her all,
Security stands firm and tall,
So she must see, she must agree,
That I fulfill her every need.”

But tell me now, what did she crave?
A man exhausted, yet well-paid?
Or one who stood beside her more,
And shared her life in ways ignored?

So, men, I hope you soon will see,
That wealth is not the final key.
For at the end, when all is done,
The goal is not to die the one
With riches stacked in silent air,
But to depart with heart laid bare,
With love well-lived, with bonds held tight,
Unshackled from these rules in sight.

poetry,