by samantakbhadra

I stand in the middle of a playground

And the players move around me

I look at them and sigh

Do they even realize that they’re aging?

They are busy trying

A futile attempt to win

They have rules made by them

They have defined happiness too

They want to master the unconquerable

All the while being slaves themselves

They run in a circle

Believing that there is an end

I cannot stop my laughter

Neither can the birds in the sky

They are the dominoes

Who are controlled not by themselves

They live in a cosmetic city

A city in their minds

My feverish hands call out

But they pay me no heed

I am, after all, one of them

Published in Recours au Poème, France (August, 2013)

Published in Cuib Nest Nido, Romania (October, 2012)