What is birthday? What is there to celebrate?
I cried the moment I was born,
And since then continuing the trend. 

What’s the point of celebration when I’m a step closer to death?
What’s the point of rejoicing, when I can hardly hold my breath?
The feeling of being unfortunate of falling sick every year,
The feeling of something awful happening on the exact day, is a real fear.

I was forced into this world without my consent,
I was forced to exist and survive without my permission, 
I was forced to undertake and fulfill responsibilities without my assent. 

This day forces my heart to skip a beat,
The fear approaching me, I can’t defeat. 
I feel anxious, unhappy, unpleasant and joyless,
I feel horrible, terrible, horrendous and spiritless. 

It’s quite obvious that I got birthday phobia, 
The fear of abandoning and harming myself, 
The fear of people’s attitude and contribution for me, 
And the fear of being unable to repay back. 
The fear captivating my mind and soul, 
The fear of falling sick again, 
The fear of facing fake attention, 
The fear of unwanted fake formalities, 
The fear of meeting and facing people, 
The fear of birthday turning into death day. 

My birthday wish, makes me wish, I was never born, 
And vow to wish what’s worse to mourn. 
The wish to disappear for an entire day, 
The wish to stay in bed at home all day. 
The wish of sleeping before twelve, 
The wish of ignoring others and myself. 
The wish of being unnoticed and isolating, 
The wish of staying low-key and avoiding. 
The wish of nobody wishing me, I pray, 
The wish that the end comes soon of this day. 

This day never favours me and my luck decreases. 
Feeling perplexed of other’s definition of this day;
When others rejoice while my celebration is isolation. 
An advance irritation begins as this day approaches. 
I ask myself, is it even my birthday if I don’t cry? 
Is it even my born day, if tragedy doesn’t befall? 
I’ve started feeling pleasure when worse things happen, 
I feel satisfied as I expected and saw it coming. 
Considering my birthday as a bad omen, 
I feel suffocated and heavily breathe. 
My hesitation and discomfort with a miserable fall, 
Is a proof of my wretched birthday arrival. 

Probably the only human on earth am I, 
Who doesn’t dress well and eat good or groom; 
Who remains unsettled, messy and dry, 
And feels blue yet good while feeling like doom. 

The pressure to keep forgetting my born day, 
The urge to convince myself of this day being unexceptional, 
The coercion to curse the day that brings blessings. 
Well, maybe I should celebrate as there is confirmation; 
The end of my existence is near, 
The end of hypocrisy is near. 
As I’m unfit for the world and incapable of instincts, 
The end of formalities is near, 
The end of living soul is near. 

The only heavenly wish, I wish, is a starry night, 
Cause the constellations console me with delight. 
I wish the universe could bless me with a galaxy that I could stare, 
To feel relieved on this day after fighting a silent war in despair. 

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