Saturday

Swaying to the occasional breeze,
The supple movements of the sign old
Squeak, as the rusty hinges fold and unfold.
And mark its presence
On a quiet Saturday afternoon.
The coffee shop has seen better times,
When the bell on the door chimes
Almost always bustling with people
Craving for that much needed vigor.
But on a day such as this,
When the sun is hard to miss.
And it blankets the town to the brick
With its sultry, golden fabric.
The town takes a nap,
Like a child snoozing on a mother's lap.

Label

Image: Pixabay

Label, a human conception
Originates from the urge of belonging
And stays deep rooted to the point
The human becomes the label itself,
And forgets its true form.

A finger pointing at the moon
Is always a finger, never the moon.

You despise me, because I'm some label
Does it matter, what label am I?
If I love you, because you're some label
Therefore, I love you, the label,
I do not love you, the human.

This facade that we live with
Is a wildly primordial farce.
Stripped off our tags and our names,
We're manufactured but the same.

A Banana Peel

Image: Pixabay

A banana peel,
Traveling ticketless in a bus
Occupies this seat
Attracts scathing eyes
Of fellow passengers.

Tough crowd, tough indeed
Dejects this rejected seal
Although a human it did feed.
Never hurt anybody,
Poor banana peel

Life's too brief
For a peel such as this
Especially when it transits
Noticeably unnoticed.