Responsibility is a bane or a blessing in disguise?
Is it a harbinger of salvation or life hardly sufficed?
Does responsibility allow men to show their best?
Or does it prove to their undoing driven by a futile test?
Why responsibility comes easy to some,
While for some it's unnaturally gruesome.
Is it selfish to run away from what you are expected to embrace?
If responsibility doesn’t come naturally, why is it a disgrace?
Why do you feel hollow after an act of absolution?
Why feel bereaved and resemble a mirage of desolation?
Why the paraphernalia of life unwelcoming and bear a deserted look,
Why are the chapters of life meaningless like a discarded book?
Why you wish to unravel the monotonous tempo of disillusioned existence,
Why the achievements and accolades nothing but aids in an unwilling pretense.
Why the threat of obsolescence supersedes that of gratification,
Why everyday you feel closer to resembling an inhumane personification.
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