Grey Matter

It was a national holiday yesterday
So you can imagine the morning
It was ghost-like yet serene
All those nine to five-rs or sixe-rs
lay in bed, absorbing the warmth
that they so slightly enjoy on a Monday morn

The psychological satisfaction of sinning
on a Monday morning is rewarding enough
to fulfill that wish of curling oneself
under the thin sheets of slumber

All those cars that pack themselves
on narrow streets, lay resting
on the sides, sharing the same pleasure
as those people in bed

One can actually hear the morning
filtered from the honking, the roaring
the morning mumbles, the scorning faces
the robotic movements, the raging screams
One can actually hear the morning
in a city that is fast asleep

The clouds slowly drifted across
the sun rays shielding their heating powers
“There’s a storm coming” they said
and people listened to nature
to it’s silent communication
through it’s connection to humans

The white clouds slowly made space
for their dreary counterparts
they disappeared as the darkness
overshadowed the innocent illusion of spring

Chills, kissed my skin, softly
like that of a bashful lover,
emitting trails of goosebumps
to relay the message to my body
that nature has turned its cold shoulder

I rested my elbows on the balcony
from where nature conversed
with me about the coming
of rain

One single drop landed on my hand
It only takes that first one, for you to utter
“Oh it’s raining”
That cold minuscule drop to meet
your skin, that moment of beautiful
encounter between humans and nature

I lingered, I wanted more
As I patiently waited I feasted my eyes
on the cubed view, the dust was slowly
sliding off the walls, making space for rain
to trail down, shedding the accumulated dirt

The dreary weather crept it, giving those
shiny billboards the justice of being bright
One word stood out, in white, with an evergreen

As I lingered on my balcony
enjoying the rain as it hailed beautifully
complimenting the music I had in the background
The view transformed from an old street in the city
to a future-sque industrial view with a wet effect

That word kept flashing on the huge ginormous billboard
sucking the power of the darkness, showing its complete control
on the world below it and as we know it

“Money, take what’s yours back”
I can’t recall the company, but
It was literally the driving force
that triggered such a pathetic image about humanity

That flashing image, subconsciously engraving
that word in your head, hypnotizing you
to spontaneously birth this crave for it
Slowly, effacing the meaning of
genuine living

Slowly invading your innocent thinking
with this dirty lust for the green
not any green, but synthesized, paper thin
green, stamped with the supposedly
archaic ruins of the country

“Money” “Money” “Money”
Ripping off your clothes
Dressing you in suits
Placing you behind a desk
in a cookie cutter society

Forgetting the simple
beautiful fact
of a raindrop on your skin
that washes away
that grey suit matter

that you are slowly



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