Yell

I saw  the best minds of my generation destroyed by pressure and expectations, pushing them towards the world where they are boiled very now and then, which is actually  not meant for them.

Who are given their post before identifying their sex, before exploring the watery earth, before listening to their desire, thus, they cry and cry and cry as they enter the world of race and competitions.

Who see the world through others’ eyes, looking at the busy bees through a tiny window enduring the stress, sorrows, and pain secretly. And unrevealing their hopes and dreams though it erupts like volcanoes in the CPU of their computer.

Who are now and then reminded of what they are, ought to do, and where they belong, forcing them indirectly, emotionally, and comparatively, making them  lose faith in wisdom, interest, and knowledge and run after grade, experience, and qualifications.

Who counts days to their lives facing every new sun with a feeling of cow dung buds crawling all over their bodies and highlights vocab words, “sacrifice,” “tradition” and “duty” in their dictionary.

Who wants to howl like a howling dog but responsibilities, “love”, and fear inhibits them from howling, and make them to stand in the middle of a bridge scratching their head, biting their nails, and thinking over whether to bean “obedient” child or listen to their own heart beats.

Who finally jumps into the water, hang themselves from the fan, burn themselves in a closed room, and disappear becoming nobody or become somebody knowing something of everything but having no enthusiasm to give a push as they fall and alas, give off their breath forever just to terminate the contemporary weeds.

By Dorji Om