NavDharmyug

Getty Images Steel Capsule Like a bullet In search of some heart, some flesh to  inflict a magnificent wound. Carrying in its womb Captives of the cubicles. Tall, Grotesque buildings Silent, watchful and unfeeling, Like gestapos, Unsmiling, glassy faces,  Cold and Smooth, on which Humanity cannot find feet ever.  We walk, fellow passengers, Like prisoners of our chosen fate. We don't look at one another when we do, accidentally we don't smile, pretending to be  the part of metallic enclosure which holds us.  The station, a solemn, bored voice  speaks at us, like a curse thrown in our direction, Phase III Metro Station, and we take out our beings A husband, a wife, a father, a mother, we take our being in our sweaty palms sweat, threatening to melt away the lines of destiny ready to barter it  for a number, a card which is our identity. Another day of  captivity to our cubicles awaits, A remorseless ...