A collection of poems.

Dreams.

I was born in a cold December,

When God sent my family another member.

I was given a career before a name.

It's what my parents thought would bring fame.

I grew up being told what to do.

Any questions bought me a scolding or two.

You don't exactly listen, it makes me sad.

For all the experience that you claim to have.

Tell me. Wherever you are. Are you content?

Did your parents give your dreams their consent?

They did, or they didn't. You know the difference.

Why then do you act so indifferent?

You were allowed to dream, weren't you?

Or like mine, yours were crushed too?

You are wise, yet, you throw me your dreams to keep.

And then you expect me not to weep.

You expect me to keep improving in the field.

But what should I do if my mind steels.

My mind keeps telling me that I'm in the wrong place.

Begs of me to change the race.

I gather my energy for I have you to face.

But Alas! You tell me to increase my pace.

You keep comparing me to the toppers in the field.

We can't be compared because they came here on will.

But fear not, 'cause you built a man capable of hits.

I might become sad, but will never quit.

                                                                                                 -Faraz Ahmed Aaswi

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