at the turnstyle a constant beep
some screaming if they won't get
first security check to get through
so far this computer is thorough
down the road bright vested man
meets you with smiling greeting
guiding you to blue line with arrow
here people talk, walk like zombie
most carrying bag and cup of coffee
nudge one, could be spill on hallway
same faces, identical lonely robots
different colored hats, working boots
faces are glued to computer reading
emails, news, contemplating, staring
so much routes to channel information
that makes a project so, so expensive
some are just playing computer games
they are the once who got high stakes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem