son, you will cry

as it starts from a simple pimple,

its nothing and as is look at it i smile with a dimple

but the look in mama's face tells a tale not that simple

the shake in her head and the worried look worsens in triples 

as the simple pimple transforms to a bulgy boil,

with dexterity of the immunisation doctor she examines my groin

squeezes the bulge and as the content ooze i recoil

in pain but when eye meets eye, son with nerves in turmoil

tells mum, "mum i wont cry!"

grimace and smile together on one facade not shy

to correct, mama tells son,

son, you will cry.

with stone or human, in love you'll never escape to fall,

that person you think about night and day and your wits stall,

whenever she whispers in your ears, you take her to many a mall

and to make her happy you will turn very stone, big and small

but the sensual touch, the warm praising voice, the late night calls

were never yours alone and its your first time, the feeling is worse than all

and son, you will cry!

fascinated by the candle light, swing my fingers through it

but fire is fire, burns whether or not beautifully lit,

finite toughness of men tells me you cant cry for that bit

but son, when your pride makes you stand with sword and shied in the pitch

to fight the burly bully of the pits,

the bashing will leave your jaw toothless and on yourself you will piss

as very effort, every might from the deepest and last of motivation tits

ebbs away consumed by malevolent watching eyes eager for the loss of teeth

and so dies the effort of proving yourself a man as every target misses hit!

and with bruised ego and wounded dignity, you call for truce

"mercy!!" "mercy!!" are the only syllables in your word bank of truth

son, you will cry!

Vroooom. the imaginary car glides along the dusty infertile soil

the kid spins the top of the bottle of the used oil,

mama watching, face is confused between pride and despondency's recoil

pride, oh the guy is growing

despondency, the future is not easy knowing.

noticing the crystal of tear streaming along the wrinkles; indicators of toil and moil

son, tells mama"one day i will drive you in my Rolls Royce

and we will never cry"

son, watch out for three words,

when the poor get consumed in their misery, thats destitution

when the rich get richer in their insolence and protected by a document, thats constitution

and when people have to use what they have to get what they don't, thats prostitution

caguht in any of them, dreams shatter

and men fill the obituary data

before accomplishing any matter

you wish for a car, son, three words stop your legs clatter,

and son, you will cry! 

so, son, cry now in the arms of mama,

coz soon life will be devoid of quails and manna

that you're the best is not close to absolute

there will always someone better, someone greater, sweeter, someone rather cute

that someone will never be you, and thats the truth

cry now, gather the strength in a manner

to handle the milestones as age you ganner