This one came and hit me from nowhere when I saw a man, dressed in smart formals, walk the walk of a Zombie. His gait caught my eye, he was almost robotic and did not seem to have any particular interest in anything around him. His feet were taking him wherever he was going. I walked a bit faster to catch up with him, to see his face. His face bore no emotion. Oblivious to the crowd, the vehicles and the commotion of city life, he walked on, an automaton.
Don’t stop him, let him grow old
On to believe the lies that he’s been told
Old boots scrape on the way to the precipice,
To his foretold end, Human sacrifice.
Shoulders sagging in the damn weight
Pockets empty filling the coffers
Of the leeches that run down his world,
Automaton goes on minus a billfold.
Dusk wraps landscape in its dark claws,
Orange lights on the streets from lampposts
Lumbering carcass moves on to the next bar,
To drown away his burgeoning numbness.
Cycle vicious, harmful it never ends,
Every day, whole day till the last day.
On that day when the power is switched off,
Truly dead he’ll be but till then…
Don’t stop him, let him grow old
On to believe the lies that he’s been told
Old boots scrape on the way to the precipice,
To his foretold end, Human sacrifice.
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