A young boy aged 18 bought a guitar,
And dreamed to earn fame by becoming a star.
But he thought himself being a bud,
Which will take time to fully blossom.
Slowly he ceased chasing him dream,
Guitar was lying in a corner, and
And hunger for a respectful life was annihilated,
One day, string of life was detached from his body,
And his soul start him questioning
For the promised legecy?
he cursed himself,
for thinking of having plenty of time,
But now he had ended in giving resentful whines.
A whiff of breeze broke his dream,
“Ho! i am not dead” he merrily screamed.
A flash of Prometheus’s torch was flashed on his mind,
Now he knew that death can not be assumed as kind.
Day onwards, he start toiling and learning fast,
And lived each day as it was his last.