The living DeadA Poem by aditya gawadeA poem on the mechanical human life
Everyday I wake up at the same time
Everyday I feel the same;fine The sun rises every morning in the east The morning doesn't seem to change even the least Everyday I go about my work Only to make some buck I have no one to love I don't have the desire to go above My soul seems dead My body lives only for bread I have no desire In my heart there's no fire Everyday for my work mechanically I think My eyes feel too tired even to blink To me all the days seem the same For which I have only myself to blame My body may be a temple But I only wait for it to crumple My eyes see the world around me But they don't view it happily just let it be I have become so mechanical Never in my life have been so hysterical Now that all is said I introduce myself to you as the living dead © 2014 aditya gawadeAuthor's Note
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