The Waiting Degree Poem by AAHAN VARMA

As a child, he used to say,

'One day I'll make them proud.'

A small house.

Big dreams.

A future spoken out loud.

His mother saved every rupee,

His father worked every night,

Just to keep one promise alive—

'Study hard and your future will be bright.'

School passed.

College passed.

Degrees kept piling high.

And every year he told himself—

'This is the year I'll finally fly.'

Forms were filled.

Exams were cleared.

Interviews came and went.

Years disappeared into waiting rooms,

And so did confidence.

Some friends found jobs.

Some left the country behind.

Some kept fighting every day.

Some slowly lost their minds.

The question isn't

Whether young people work hard.

The question is—

Why opportunity feels so far.

The question isn't

Whether dreams still exist.

The question is—

Why the doors stay closed like this.

They call youth

The strength of the nation.

Then why are millions waiting

For a single chance at creation?

We don't want shortcuts.

We don't want sympathy.

We just want to know—

Why is effort no longer enough to guarantee dignity?

Because unemployment

Isn't only about work.

It's about watching hope disappear

While you're told to keep waiting for your turn.