your breakfast, a fast break
your lunch is junk
your dinner is coffee, to your sleepless nights.

your eyes shop what they see
and your hands work for them
what a sorrow, that your eyes
only see what they shop.

your life is a file
your history, an abandoned case
your death, a folder in a trash can.

you’re a mold, obediently molded
in a moldy society…
I would have liked to wipe
the speck, from the corners of your eyes
but the Book says
“first take the log out of your eye
then you’ll see clearly,
to take the splinter,
from your brother’s eye.”