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It’s not about the ripped jean,
Nor the red tie and the blue blazers.
Rather, the need to put people in boxes,
Like we are.

Rich like us? or poor like them?
Alike? or different?
Who knows?
If not the guard of the cage of vision.

The borderline made consciously known,
A man in tees differs from a man in caftan,
A black apple differs from a black berry,
Suede differs from a brusque.

Optic nerves are the portals to the mind,
A place where a line divides all into groups,
Created by visible-invisible hands and mouths.
Everything must fit into something after all.

under the sheets

Also Read: Go Places You’ve Dreamed of

Aphrodite lurks in every magazine photo,
Same who died of morphine overdose?
But how can one so good-looking be such…
Oh well, looks are one hell of a lie then.

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