They lie there
Sitting forlornly
The reminders of my failure
Tomes and tomes of books
Stacked carelessly upon each other
It's a tale that noone reads
About in the newspapers
About the remaining 99 per cent
Who did not make it as a topper
And still they lie there
Once my best friends
Who I expected to make me across
This ocean of multiple questions
Why do I do it?
Is it from a strange desire
To win my father's love
His approval
For that I never tire
It's a tale well repeated
A parent's love with a condition
Do well, my son, they say
They did not expect me to be beaten
I shall only make the headlines
Not as a 100 percentiler
Only as a footnote
A suicide, the product of desire
