The Worry Jar

Worries do rip me apart,

It's the pen with which I vent out some parts.

And I wonder!

Don't they exist for everybody?

Aren’t they spread everywhere?

For some, it's the hectic work so monotonous.

For some, it's being jobless and hollowness.

For some, it's the fear of a failure out of blue.

For some, it's the success that's elusive without the slightest clue.

For some, it's the excess black money.

For some, it's the financial agony.

For some, it's childlessness,

For some, it's the disobedient kid's ruthlessness.

For some, it's the cheating partner.

For some, it's the loved one lost in war.

For some, it's the obesity.

For some, it's the stomach totally empty.

Worry seems to be a human trait,

So innate and imbibed in all our fates.

Life is a conquest of this worry,

In the process, happiness isn't a thing to bury.