The other day, I
Tried to eat a
*** of yoghurt.

Lacking the tools,
I called up
To my mother:

"Mum! Where
Are the spoons?"
The fatal words.

Now, every time I
Go online, all the
Adverts are for cutlery.

A distant gunshot
Politely reminds you that
Safety is a lie.

Frigid buildings as those
That scrape the sky, climbing.
In a place that no-one knows,
Distant bells are chiming

To the shots and screaming,
"Stop resisting!" A rise
In terror betraying
The brittle city's brittle lies.

And for a time we hoped that they
Would never know our quiet rage,
And from the melting lights, we pray
For the silent, now upstaged.

About a year ago,
I quit smoking.

My counselor - a
Firm anti-smoker -
Told me, "Well done,"
And as I left

Her office, a thick cloud
Of bus-exhaust billowed
Up to the third story
Window, and seeped within.

"No smoking," the sign said;
"It's bad for your health."

We are already
Cyborgs. We integrate with
Our computer screens.

Do you know, the exact design
Of spikes and wires atop street-signs
And the sort, are to stop
Pigeons ******* on the top?

And yet, just the other day,
A mother pigeon - as if to say
"*******!" to the local street -
Had made her nest up, nice and neat,

Above the very spikes they laid
To stop the nest from being made.
And as I passed, I thought aloud,
"'At-a-girl! She should be proud!"

Amidst the chaotic thrums
Of silence, a lone ant
Rises among the swarm.

Slowly, and with no small
Amount of huge determination,
She ascends the blade

Of grass, and stands aloft.
Overseeing the nest,
She sees nothing at all.