Every day I open my eyes,
when morning sun breaks
the darkness of the sky.
One hour is all I have for me,
before the grand big clock
dictates I join the society.
Through the bustling crowd I weave,
I see moving images of
people come and people leave.
Their minds as narrow as a pin,
rushing to complete tasks
amongst a cultured din.
For all the riches they would strive,
they live an existence
more than a life.
Walking the same route till they die,
never stopping to think,
never asking why.

Reaching a path flanked by trees,
I slowed down my pace
to savor the breeze.
Into a momentary dream I dive,
surrounded by quiet,
I feast my eyes on still life.
As I leave the tree-flanked path,
a haunting question lurks behind,
are they more still,
or are our minds?