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Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Free from Bromide

Sitting by the corner of the street
I can hear the silence
In the fervent screeches
Emanating from the vacuity of banal souls

Men festinating at the busy signals
Circling in the meaningless
Women worrying about their mundane chores
With a baggage of their being, being torn apart

The men going to their offices in the morning
And returning drunk late at the night
The men caressing with praises one night
And traducing and crushing the alternate

The women in the temples
The women in the brothels
The women worshipped
The women abused

The little vacuous faces of children
From the toddlers to the kite-runners
Either clamped to their mother’s bosom
Or carrying the burden on their sagging shoulders

The drooping faces, the textured skin
Fondled by the hands of time
With a hope of love
Reciprocated from the loved ones

Yet smiling and lively
And again in love with the progenies
Manifesting the altruistic love
For their soiled buds

No breakthroughs from
The absurdity of life
Reduced to a vagabond
Lost in the labyrinthine

The trickle of the sweat
Coming from the money
Earned after losing the souls
Losing the innocuous insanity

The same tick-tocks
The same tap of the shoes
The same nihility of the body
The vacuous souls fleeting away

The bodies waiting for
The eventual strike of the dagger
The oblivious in the desire of euthanasia
The lips lacking audacity

This is just a denial
From being carried away
From being reined by the hands of time
From vanishing in the tempest of life

This is a pause
To be free from the bromide
To reckon myself
To retrieve myself

To feel the wind in my hair
To feel the rain on my bark
To feel a breath in my lungs
To feel I am still alive

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