Lost beings

Spoken and impoverished
every feeling and emotions
Destined to be doomed
to be expressed through words
Such is the folly of life
We are talking about everything
and adjusting it with knife
Like forcing a person
through a word
We are trying to know
without our soul

It’s like listening without sound
Every wave rebounds
only to be lost in abyss
Through eardrums we listen
and like a mechanical machine
A habit, reverting became
Everyone’s cups are full
Full with words and phrases
We are pouring some more
What gets spilled over
are our emotions and traces
Traces of life

Everything is now labelled
Labelled with words
People are treated like objects
Traded in auctions
Manhandled and adjusted
To our liking they are readjusted
We are trying to make living out of them
We are exploiting nature
And now its come to this
Humans are less human
and poems are last proceeds

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