Sitting at work on a chair that is
torturing my back, time effectively
dilated to infinity while we are floating
over the surface of reality
All its many vertical dimensions hidden
from our sensory powers, seeing just the
smallest range of light, hearing but a few
frequencies of sound
Imprisoned within biological limitations, with
no effect on our emotions, doing work which
offers no challenges at all, does not stimulate
the imagination
Living within a grinder to cut up our dreams and
kill the spirit until we resemble a machine – well,
luckily I’m the most awkward, useless machine
that has ever been
While time is taking me on its wings in and out of
existence; there is no way to keep my soul enclosed
within meaninglessness; although the outer shell is
useless stupidity
Hidden within is the chrysalis, forever untamed and free;
forever malleable to the power of illusion and fantasy;
forever beyond the reach of the material crushing
machines which they call
The happiness of conformity!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem