I am walking.
I think I am;
The road walks the other way.
A tiny kiosk sells death in all sizes
While people flock in huge numbers to die;
They ask for their favorite cigarette flavors.
A girl preens her hair trying to find
What she doesn’t look like in a vehicle’s mirror;
She can’t wait to live her lie.
Children cross the road with hands in each other’s.
They follow what they are told;
They think those hands are forever theirs to hold,
And that crossing a road would always feel the same.
A man on a bike vrooms past like a bullet;
In his head, he secretly owns the road,
That fortune is his since he is in control.
A wailing bus stops at a distance –
The whale of the land.
It swallows everyone with promises to take them home,
But is left at the mercy of smaller fish on the road.
It cannot wait to drop its weight;
It has so many things on its chest.
While the rich honk their disgusting howls
Through lurid machines that have made them more miserable
They look down on two wheels,
Believing them to be two less from success.
Confused traffic lights try to keep people in check,
But the unstoppable can’t be stopped;
Machines are human’s mistakes.
As all of this goes on in my backdrop
I talk,
I think I am talking to them,
But nobody stops to listen.