To wake up one day
and find no rush
to pick up the toothbrush
and sundry things,
to gather the paraphernalia
I might need at work
no click-clock, tick-tock
the rush to straighten a shirt collar
or flatten the creases
to dry the hair
and set them right,
to fight their mutiny and coerce them into submission,
and spray the fragrance on the skin
to search the answer to the question:
“Where are my socks?”
and then the bigger one: “Why am I doing this?”
To wake up one day and remember
it was me,
it was me,
until it wasn’t me.
I am not there,
I ran. Away.
an escape, escaping from one prison to another.
what, a break?
shameless in pursuit of placidity.
wherever that is.
to someplace idyllic, to some place unworthy..
here I am.
hidden from the scrutiny of people who screen each other,
and want to win
each angry, longing, smiling.
looking back, looking forward.
I am not there,
I am on the trenches
the second grade of the third world
angry, longing, smiling
looking back, looking forward.