Do We Have Option? Poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi

No one knows me and my feelings,
They smile at me as if I were happy,
When I smile back out of courtesy,
The burden of the mind is gone easy.

No one knows me and my feelings,
I am worried about everything,
That I can think about and feel,
Drowsy I am, with punishment conventional.

I'd want to do what I like,
For each of my likings, there is a hurdle,
I have been confused since young,
With lists of good and bad, long.

When I try to buy a hand phone,
They ask whether I want original or cloned,
When I try to buy the car tyres,
They ask me whether I want imported or rethread.

When I pour the oil for the engine, brake and steering,
They ask me whether I want synthetic or recycled,
Wherever I go, whatever I do, I have options,
Even when I pray, they ask me which God I pray to.

when I was born, I think that I didn't have the option,
when I am ill, I don't have the option to choose the germs,
when I lie on that bed, I don't have the option of,
picking up the right time, after many years,
after fulfilling all my desires, dreams and duties.