QA
License says is "Doctor"
Will see me as "Patient"
To test me; my brain
"Is he sick; affected? "
I receive some papers
"Fill them up! " is order
Have to choose an answer
To series of questions!
"True", "False" most of them
"Yes" or "No", "Almost there! "
The logic behind test
Binary, computer's!
Their world is
"Black", "White"
No "Grey" in between
I leave some for later
To seek help of doctor
Psychologist, disaster! ! !
Is no help; in no way
For the things I wonder.
Her reply is simple:
"Can't grade; tick-mark them! "
"Where are we? "
"What are we? "
All freeze inside me
With simple dissection:
"Crazy! To machines are slaves! "
"Let me go…relieve me…"
Want to shout but that too
Freezes; makes iceberg
She can't see even tip!
I rather go get lost…
But in chain feel stuck
She claims: "PTSD"!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem