My heart is crying,

but my parents are smiling.

one another time,

I sacrificed my desire.

the wish of seeing them smile

is more important than me writing.

again, a writer died,

in the wake becoming a doctor.

Now I have medical books,

instead of mt writing pads.

my hands want to write,

they write, and I am fine.

I still write today,

but now people’s prescriptions.

I became a successful doctor,

instead of a writer.

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