On weekends, I usually indulge in mundane pastimes in which life duties have no bearing.
Going on leisurely walks, watching films, or making acquaintances. Ah, the art of living!
On most weekdays, however, I often find myself drowning in murky and troubled waters.
Where expectations and obligations gather in a swarm, taking on sharklike features
Striking after telltale signs of surrender. Leaving trails of existential horrors in their wake.

What would it take to flee and veer off the current course? I’d then sit and ponder.
To chase after rosy-deemed dreams made entirely of garments, needles, and thread.
Confiding in parents amidst the chaos is also a proven futile effort because —
‘You’d outgrow your fleeting obsessions,’ is what they always confidently mutter.
Opening room for more doubt and despair to barge in with a loud clatter.

But I learned to hide my biting resentment underneath layers of feigned indifference.
Mastered the craft of walking in confident strides and etching on saccharine smiles.
Because what good comes from performing a Shakespearean tragedy before prying eyes?
However, when the game of play-pretend becomes taxing, and patience starts wearing thin
I seek refuge in my bedroom vicinity, where I freely entertain the blood-spattered what-if musings.

You saw me on that moonless night.
Loitering and idling out of sight.
You saw me hunched in misery,
Clad in street-walkers' livery.

The moment I laid my eyes on you,
I saw a light, a hope so true,
Something which was shattered since
The day I entered the world of sins.

For want of food, I sold my body;
Bread exchanged with dignity.
A mug of ale for one night's work,
While rent was paid by bedding jerks.

You know what I've done, so why do you care?
I'm broken, undone–a deflowered mare.
I don't even own some decent clothing;
All I have are rags for showing.

You always utter, "I love you."
Is there such a love so true?
Would you love this rotten mare,
And stay with her as a wedded pair?