Thursday, November 11, 2010

The Building


THE BUILDING

The office
Standing tall
Teeming of faces
I cant all recall.
Ive always thot
That skyscrapers
Are made of concrete
But this firmament that
Sticks over the skyline
Are made of walls
That are just slightly thicker
And a just a little bit wider
Than that of the faces
That occupy its spaces.
It's cappillaries start moving
And then pause.
The Elevator stops
On mid-floors - suddenly our
Imagined Corporate-movie lives
Flop and someone just yells
"Holy Crap Im trapped! "
Back to reality.
Passengers awaken.
This lift might just be
Metal coffins transporting
Live people to hell.
Funny but It hurts when
At times one has to
kneel to the devil
To make a living
and then thank God
for the job
That provides each weekend
A set of beer at a club.
Twelve floors up
Where birds outside fly
And occasionally peep
On glass windows
chirping mutely
And choking of polluted
Air rising from below.
From the outside
The birds mummed of
The events inside -
The subtle insults
And sarcasm that bite.
The smiles to a computer screen
That doesnt smile back.
The laughs to a voice
That comes out from the wires
Stemming out from
Across oceans
where birds outside
Would not attempt to try.
The cursing hurled
Are nauseating.
The bodies walking
And running in squares
and circles
Back and forth,
Its maddening.
The weight of the problems
Of a foreign country
Resting on the shoulder
of this building

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