Crowds

The crowds of the city

Has left their dwellings

Moving around in

Disciplined groups

Up and down,

Round and round

Bumping into each other

Fighting for space

Life is slow,

Everything seems to be

Permanent

Locked in rigid patterns of

Existence

Illusions are fine

They are like wine

You drink and enjoy until you

Wake up with an headache

Realising that most of your

Life was a dream

Wasted on the altar

Of ideas and dreams

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s