My Birthday

My birthday my birthday, the day has come On her own back, carrying little memories The memories of angst, storms come home My birthday precedes, the possible labour Holding my tummy, turning to sob Holding my back, anxious to rob For the empty tummy, labour feels better My birthday precedes, the possible labour Better the actual day, when mother delivered For the real labour, short-lived than hunger For that longing, was just short-lived My birthday precedes, the possible labour When will they come? Sons and daughters Decently dressed men, to sing and clap Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! My birthday precedes, the possible labour Hilarious was I born, on a golden thorn That pierces kingishly, that torments my heart For people sing to dance, benchmark to torn My birthday precedes, the possible labour The society is not, a round-shaped table For people to sit, to sing and dance Differences are busy, imparting the worst My birthday is not, not sung and chanted