Epigraph:

We dislike those things
Which have provided us comfort!


What they pine for
Is what we never
think of that for them.
They sob, sigh
and suffer and we, on  
our happiest occasions,
Torture them to the extent
They feel burials
Like situations and groan.
It is their elders
Who fall prey to our desires
Of polishing our body
And to give it a fine touch
And sometimes the younger ones
Are bound to go into suffocation
We love them for days
We welcome them on festivals
We invite them on special moments
Alas! We strangulate some
to hug others in presence of all...