The Walking Dead Poem by Renu Beri

I see a large number of walking dead,
Neither down below nor high above.
I see them on earth with heads held high,
Though, long ago, they emitted a last sigh.

Their minds are working, but spirits dead,
Mechanical hearts beating; emotions lead,
Considering themselves power-packed lords,
They are their own little robotic gods.

Caught in a web of competitive existence,
Overcoming all shades of resistance,
Deviously surviving the daily onslaughts,
Countering them with well rehearsed plots.

Their lives are a huge turning wheel,
Of failure, hope, depression and zeal.
Till one day, their troubled spirit breaks,
Something within them vigorously shakes,
And they become the living dead.