Do We Have Option?

No one knows me and my feelings, They smile at me as if I were happy, When I smile back out of courtesy, The burden of the mind is gone easy. No one knows me and my feelings, I am worried about everything, That I can think about and feel, Drowsy I am, with punishment conventional. I'd want to do what I like, For each of my likings, there is a hurdle, I have been confused since young, With lists of good and bad, long. When I try to buy a hand phone, They ask whether I want original or cloned, When I try to buy the car tyres, They ask me whether I want imported or rethread. When I pour the oil for the engine, brake and steering, They ask me whether I want synthetic or recycled, Wherever I go, whatever I do, I have options, Even when I pray, they ask me which God I pray to. when I was born, I think that I didn't have the option, when I am ill, I don't have the option to choose the germs, when I lie on that bed, I don't have the option of, picking up the right time, after many years, after fulfilling all my desires, dreams and duties.