Blaring sirens beckon you to hide somewhere
These days melting into nights with no warning
The puppeteer is asleep , the strings still
But the wood in marionette imbibed his script
They still move mechanically with no mind of their own; controlled
The rhythm is a monotonous line; resembling the decaying heart
The monochromatic tone of its softened brain; dying and robotic
Cerebral motives ;passion but lack there of
A steady hum; with no disruption but bored ideals
No flickering; a weak slashed line with no beats
A tensed thread; ready to break anytime, desperate to snap
Dust settled on top of eyelids; not ready yet to see the chaos
For how long do I get to wait?
To break the chain?
It’s getting late.
I am tired
but I haven’t given up, yet
I cut my teeth on this monotony.