Unemployed

He steps out of his university after three years or so,

Filled with memories, some delight and some sorrow,

Remembering, the day walked about in glee,

On the same road, but after a long journey,
A journey whose end was yet to be seen,
Though, for his friends, the path seemed already clean,
Yes, he was passing out, with nothing but a degree,
While his peers were worry-free,
With a job, a seat or a or a family business, their hands full,
He sat sad and afraid, yes, but faithful,
A month at home, a year at home,
Filling applications, but with results none,
Sending his resume to many a stranger,
Questioned by relatives, suppressing his anger,
Attending classes, teaching kids,
Scowled at by parents,
He'd been strong, yes, but who wouldn't break,
With everyone pretending to worry for his sake,
Speaking of the same thing, letting his heart ache,
Not even concealing that their concern was fake?
He learnt the hard way that none did love,
Wisdom rammed into him with one great shove,
He wished he had his friends by his side,
So he could lean on their shoulders or just go for a ride,

Of course they loved him, and wanted to help,

But far too busy, they could only hear him sulk,

He'd been strong and steady,

And for any job, ready,

But who could talk to heartless recruiters,

Who fill their cups before a word one utters?

They repeated the same old lines,

Ones he had heard countless times,

They asked pointless questions with no possible replies,

Worrying more about his past than ever might his wife,

Advice drew to him like iron towards a magnet,

From every corner, from neighbour, shopkeeper, even a harlot,

Words of faith, of honour,

Nothing would touch him, he wore an invisible armour,

But some days were just tough,

When he'd feel he had had enough,

What was the difference between having a job and not?

Why did it seem that his life had shrunk to naught?

Did a busy look and professional clothes truly make one worthy?

Didn't such views seem silly?

Why did people want to trust a man in a tie?

Were they so naive to think he wouldn't lie?

Every single night, he cried himself to bed,

Trying hard to forget what they all said,

Every morning he awoke to a bright dawn,

He knew he would make it one day, but till then this had to go on.

Written between 24.4.2016 and 25.4.2016 at Room B001, H13, IIT Bombay
This one is sort of forced, and I'm not taking it down, since I consider it to stand as a monument to forced poetry that turns out to be a disaster. Sorry.