I stand in the middle of a playground
And the players move around me
I look at them and sigh
Do they even realize that they’re aging?
They are busy trying
A futile attempt to win
They have rules made by them
They have defined happiness too
They want to master the unconquerable
All the while being slaves themselves
They run in a circle
Believing that there is an end
I cannot stop my laughter
Neither can the birds in the sky
They are the dominoes
Who are controlled not by themselves
They live in a cosmetic city
A city in their minds
My feverish hands call out
But they pay me no heed
I am, after all, one of them