I am rushing from one call to another
in my ‘oh so busy’ life;
running in a bid to hit home
before the next call hits my phone,
when I see my friend outside
A star performer once –
brought down by debilitating illness.
He does not try to hide his tears –
they flow unconstrained
and tear me apart –
Do I comfort him and risk running late?
I can see he needs me by…
but the strings are tugging at me…
I console him and leave – in time.
I rush in next morning
and our smiling guard greets me –
he’s back post a month long vacation.
I ask about his new born.
“He’s dead”, he tells me
as he scans my laptop.
I look at him, stunned.
He shrugs, and smiles again.
I know not how to comfort him
and the time is ticking by…
I can feel those strings again
pulling me to my busy life.
I pick my bag and walk off
with an awkward thank you…
and he nods in understanding.
We run through life like puppets
hitherto pulled by strings…
A string for that new house
A string for plum promotions
A string for utopia…
Strings that turn to pipes
holding us down on our death bed…
A pipe to breathe
A pipe to eat
A pipe for excreta…
In the end we die alone
tangled in our twisted strings.
Rasping hoarse
under those multitudes of pipes.
Pipe dreams turned to ashes.