The common man

You are a no one, you are coming from nowhere and you have nowhere to go, you are another perfect imperfection in this world- these were the words he used to say to him every single day of his failure. Now it has become a habit to talk anonymously. Failure isn't an option for Mr.sceptical however maimed might be the resources, however crippled might be hearts of the competitors 'one has to win'. And there the virtually sterilized human being raised upto the level of the 13 storey roof manipulates the keyboard to prepare the draft of his resignation. After a few hours he will be free, free like a bird. A doubt still fills up the belly and stresses the pectoral muscles, he will be a common man from today. He won't be praised for being the great son of some humble father, he won't be given a least bit of attention without the company tag. The romantic eyes of some blue moon night will seem drenched in the coldness of refusal, this is life, things turn over so quickly and suddenly in the blink of an eye. Mr.sceptical is again ruminating his past life, he is a software professional now,he can't let the soft emotional bluffs regulate his hard earned job. The draft is still not saved, the cross on the right top can bring an end to it. Proposal of freedom then will be the same melancholia of happiness, life will be the same monotonous mist of pleasure. He keeps wandering and limerating of the achieved and not achieved, the boeing flight wandering through the skies of salt lake waiting for the runway to clear up.