There is the crowd and here is me,
In an attempt to find unity,
I bridge the gap with eager steps,
Jostling for a place in the mesh.
It’s hard to breathe.
It’s hard to see.
I feel so tiny in this throng of human bees.
Buzzing and moving, to gather, to store,
An array of minds all synced to a single core.
I met Jack, on his way from work,
He’s a party loving and hardworking clerk,
He hates to be dull, and thus makes sure —
Like everybody, to follow the new haute couture.
His wife is happy, his new car’s working fine,
His boss laughs at his jokes; in fine hotels he loves to dine,
He hoped I was good, but didn’t ask for more,
His chaps were waiting, with beers and cricket scores.
I saw Jack waving a bye, vanishing in the swarm,
Leaving me wondering,
In the rush, unarmed.
I stood aside, as the crowd pass by, a moment and some few,
I mused about why Jack was called dull,
— and not me nor you.
http://the-moody-khana.blogspot.in/: The “Moody” Khana