This inward journey simply whelms –
Not over- and not under-. Just. –
I wonder if I like it so.
I find no joy in others’ joy,
No pain in others’ crying pain,
No oneness with their loneliness.
They push. I simply empty out.
Without resistance, balance lost,
They fall ahead. I do not care.
Is this what dead-end jobs are like?
Or treadmill jobs that go nowhere
Despite a lot of huff and puff?
Is this what water feels inside?
Just cycling states and getting bored
Until it’s split by lightning strikes?
Be water, my friend?
Minakhi Misra 