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

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