You enter this world as a gift divine,
No scan, no sign, no warning line.
For knowing your gender is seen as a sin,
So your soul sneaks quietly in.
Your schooling begins with a price to be paid,
A “donation” they call it — a holy trade.
Duality greets you with folded hands,
Where truth and bribes go hand in hand.
Your textbooks are heavy, the mind feels tight,
Yet you’re told to recall each word by night.
The cosmos must fit in your little head —
Infinity bound by what’s been read.
At work, you toil from dawn till dark,
But never ask for a single mark.
“Just do your duty,” they softly preach,
“The fruit of labour is out of reach.”
Then comes marriage, arranged with care,
With stars and charts floating in air.
Looks don’t matter, you’re told with grace,
For all are dust in time and space.
To get things done, you learn the art
Of greasing palms and playing smart.
Even gods in temples seem to wait
For offerings to unlock their gate.
The roads you take are cracked and wild,
Each bump a blessing, harsh but styled.
Your spine aligns, your senses shake —
And Kundalini starts to wake.
You raise a child, begin anew,
With bribes and hopes and dreams in view.
The cycle spins — the wheel, it turns,
And every soul, in turn, still learns.
And when you die, your kin must pay
To prove you’ve gone and moved away.
With stamps and files and silent cries,
They bribe to get your last goodbyes.
So here we are, in sacred land,
Where truth and chaos walk hand in hand.
And every soul, through pain and jest,
Is slowly shaped… to seek the rest.