My eyes are full of dust
accumulated from the day’s dullness.
I sit here, pondering when can I possibly reach home.
But home has flown over the rivers,
we left behind, in memory and whine. Now, we are just trains-
without a whistle,
travelling between two dots for the rest of our lives.
A wildfire rages as I sip my morning tea
It cuts my throat at work.
It burns my emails, burns my excel sheets
and makes me want to quit. Is it the eternal
lightness, or shall we just call them dolts?
A man fits himself within a cell of an excel sheet-
jumps occasionally, from a number to another.
He is not deaf, he is not dumb either.
He is just as good as a number
without an explanation.
Perhaps, he always craved to be the boss
So, he became a pawn
pacifying, pleasing seniors,
with a stupid pride
over his imaginary clerks.
A house negro dreams to be just like his boss
So he applauds his every word, exclaims aggressively
Laughs until his boss cuts him off.
Squeals, squawks, claps and jumps.
A field negro,
quietly wears a middle finger in his smirk.