Wednesday, June 3, 2015

Ordinariness


He struggles to find the appropriate word.
He oozes perfunctory self-assurance.
He never takes the path less travelled by.
He is fulfilled at the distant sight of joy.

Night is just an internecine,
a time warp where sides are changed,
when he takes an (un)ethical stance,
while cruising in a ship of forlorn hope.

He has an opinion on everything,
the kind that does not really matter.
He was fed on a false future
all his life. Some of which, he
redeems from his wife.

Trying to improve his lot, he
worked his fingers to their bone.
He fakes emotions with consummate ease.
While giving his child lessons in morality,
he greases the palms of those who swore
contemporaneous honesty.

In a teeming sea of ordinariness,
he will pass you - unnoticed,
you’ll never remember his wrinkled face,
and on the final arrival, in death,
while obviating his last trace,
they will cover his stupid face.