A writer walks alone, on the road of life.
Without a father, without a mother; without a sibling, without a wife.
He writes to satisfy his soul, & to entertain his readers.
He tries to impress the critics, by criticizing the leaders.
His work revolves around the glories of life,
With an occasional pinch of tragedy to add spice.
His stories win him critical acclaim, & a horde of loving fans.
He loves writing but loathes living a life of unwashed clothes & eating-from-cans.
He is a man of endless thoughts,
Whose mind is whole but the heart rots.
He lives in his own world, dreaming ceaselessly of a better tomorrow,
Where loving, caring people strive to ease his sorrows.
He craves for joy & sunshine,
& of a life, devoid of whines.
And yet, he continues to walk alone on the road of life.
Without a father, without a mother; without a sibling, & without a wife.
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