By Aakshra Gupta
When I speak of my struggles,
My heartaches and broken knuckles,
When all I do is rant about my fears,
And there he comes with tissue for my tears.
Yet, how could I overlook his pains,
When he fought himself in the heavy rains?
How couldn’t I see the weight he carried each day,
Weathering each storm alone in the fray?
Why did God make men like that,
When women hold the power to cry and react?
Why do men have lonely nights for despair,
And not the people that care?
By Aakshra Gupta
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