My Lost Rib Is Lost

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.