I could be rich just by selling
The energy in the market hungry
The heat was restless rising temperature
Was I suffering from fever?
Whatever it was, when ever I sat down
To count would be amount in the account
With a pen and paper, surprisingly
I feel very cold suddenly,
Relieved but feel very uneasy
As I lost the would be money
I could not sell; I could not change my destiny!
What a pity! It is all the forgetting to blame
If I would not have forgotten, I could be a rich
But would be a mad man, which one I would be
Preferred rich or mad? The temperature is rising again
Not due to heat this time but for the thought
My life is in serious crisis as in the desert or drought.