The Waiting Dream Poem by AAHAN VARMA

As a child he used to say,

'One day I'll make them proud.'

A small house.

Big dreams.

Promises spoken out loud.

His mother saved every rupee.

His father worked every night.

Just to keep one hope alive—

'Study hard, and life will be bright.'

School passed.

College passed.

Degree after degree came by.

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.

One side has talent.

One side has ambition.

Yet millions are waiting

For a simple permission.

They call youth

The future of the nation.

Then why does waiting

Feel like a full-time occupation?

We don't want shortcuts.

We don't want sympathy.

We just want to know—

Why does effort no longer guarantee dignity?

Because unemployment

Isn't only the absence of work.

It's the slow disappearance

Of hope beneath the hurt.

And every year spent waiting

Creates the same painful scene—

A nation full of potential,

And a generation stuck between.