Udai Narayan Singh Bisht
Hundreds At A Moment - Poem by Udai Narayan Singh Bisht
Every morning when I wake up
just another day in the run.
And even before I
open my eyes
the start-gun has fired
I miss it, and,
I miss it every day.
When I get on the streets
there are people running everywhere.
Perhaps they have heard the gun,
perhaps they have a head start,
perhaps they are happy to be ahead.
But when I pass besides them,
in my slow, sleepy gait
I see them sad and gloomy
tired in the morning
and dead in the evening.
They're all walking (as it seems)
but actually dragging sacks of burden,
that does not seem to be there
but, they know it is there,
and I know it is there.
Then I look at myself,
at my feet
that follow these men
in haste and chase;
at my hands, that push them
and make space for my chest.
At my head that has long back
stopped thinking and acting wise
but only following where the crowd goes.
I think for a moment, I am trapped
or that I am wrong
but, then I see
hundreds of them doing the same shit
and I wonder—
how could hundreds at a moment be ever wrong?
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