I am angry at my self.
Really really mad.
I tried sincerely to convince,
But as stubborn that he is,
Refuses listen,
To distilled wisdom.
What is the problem I ask?
In being a turnstile?
You run no risk,
Riveted,
Safe,
In supreme calm,
Turn clockwise,
Turn anti clockwise,
You do your job,
You are in sync with the lord.
He will not listen.
He takes out a cigar,
Like an Italian Mafioso,
With dames around,
Bites the end off,
Flames the other,
Smokes a deep one,
Does a bottoms up,
And jeers at me,
Sonny,
I was born to be a Ferrari.
Not red, Pink.
Not because I like it,
Just for the heck of it.
Hardik Vaidya
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-am-angry-so-what/
