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Cubicles are diminished
and the flags of our forefathers are burnt.
You were only meant to carry a cubicle
because a small person like you
has his pockets filled with money
and nothing else.
You were born to only marvel
on the mystery of big hearts
and the countless people
who reside in them.
Your timeless notions of selflessness
are ricocheted by the doings of others
and your sincerity seeks its destination.
Perhaps another house,
perhaps another sports car,
perhaps another world
of you and only you.
Where do the beats of your heart stop
their selfish rhythm
and start beating again for the others?
I have strived to unravel my thoughts of you
disgusted by your way of indifference.
I have cursed everyday of knowing you
and I have loved the “you” I could have had.
Everyday.
So much, that I have become you.

2nd March 2007