The world that I, almost, own
Hanging on a thread of luck
Working hard, lazying off
Time goes by, I remain stuck.
The world where I am, almost, happy
Just after crossing last hurdle
I will win, only if last remains last
And, chronology doesn't reshuffle.
The world where I am, paradoxically, free
Make my own choices but
Bounded with choices imposed on me
And, life restricted in shell-nut.
The world where I take, so much, pride
In my existence, in my surviving
No time to hum in solitude
Chaos has become my living.