Brief Summary Of Postindustrial Life


Standing silently.

Not necessarily silently but just quietly.

Holding back the riot inside his chest,

Heart pounding like the prison door

Of a madman during the full moon.

A rhythmic push on his ribs like a butterfly in a cocoon.

With breaths that oscillate through him

like the tempo to a hymn,

Spilling out fatigue in the air.

The same air

That his lungs are so desperately trying to grasp.

He clasps his will

To go on further,

Holding it like the last bill

In the hands of a man reduced to destitution.

Probably sitting near a train station,

hungry to bits,

But that’s none of his concern.

Because before this ‘will’ splits in two,

He sees the sign board at the crest of his view.

With just one more floor left to climb,

He spews out a squeal,

Climbing stairs for pizza is definitely a cumbersome ordeal.

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