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My lost rib is lost
Girls reject me everywhere
some raise their noses when they see me
In the college they ran away from me
claiming my socks smell nasty
In dance halls bull-dance is killing me
I am told my feet is big and flat like Chapatti
That is the reason I step on every girl’s foot,
if I am lucky to be picked by one
In places of work I am lonely
I am told my pocket has pot-holes;
that why I cannot by ice cream.
A rat in the mosque and me are brothers in want.
One heart-breaker told me to check in the mirror
for the size of my big nose
that inhales air without discrimination
“God made a mistake. Your nose is fit for hippopotamus.
Engineers can hire your nose for warehouse ventilators,”
she ridiculed me!
I sit and ask myself; why me of all youth?
Where is my lost rib lost?
I should go to the anatomist for examination.
Probably he will tell me that I am the only one
with twelve pairs of ribs, not eleven.
By this I will rest my case.

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