They stand by the door
Well-groomed, well-dressed
Staccato figures
Crackling in various states
Of anticipation
The impending death
Was theatre
They could not but
Hold onto their smallnesses
Their egos though loomed large
Silently swiping at each other
Even in death
They could be this way
Even in death
They had to be this way
Little, alive people
Going about their big pretences
The ventilator cackled loudly inside
-
Chandni Girija
Feb 10, 2023
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