Sunday, November 7, 2010

The 7:02 metro..

7/11/2010, Sunday...

The silver coloured, metallic precinct,
pulls away at 7:02 every morning.
Sometimes I let it go,
and sometimes it leaves me behind.

The souls I see over there,
are like famished beasts.
Laconic are their spaces,
and seldom they leave any human traces.

In a race against the ticking clock,
they try to seize time by the forlock.
With a trivial tinge in their voice,
they sing the banal verses
of spontaniety, of choice,
and presciently rejoice.

Flowing in the deluge of ordinariness,
the haggard habitues,
trying hard to do what they are told to,
toil hard, to set foot onto,
the only thing they do impromptu.

That silver coloured, metallic precinct,
pulls away at 7:02 every morning.
Sometimes I let it go,
and sometimes it leaves me behind,
and sometimes like a lyrical lunge,
of an emotionless song,
it takes me along...


I don't know what 've i written and why 've i done that. I don't know if anyone can ever interconnect my sporadic thoughts. I don't know if someone will ever try to. But do i care ?? ... i never did... and i still don't...