My journey has now started for ten thousandth time
on the curly escalators of the bored, grey world,
as they are horizontally travelling together with me
into the silent void called: present.
The struggles of millions of motors beneath my feet,
serving the same lords for centuries.
The world is perilous, provided it is capable of more
as it already is.
The depressing buzz of the corridors
are settled on the convolutions of my brain,
as if it wanted to move, to tip my body
out of the deranged moments of routine by telepathy.
Maybe I'm just imagining things. Would it work?
Pause. Error. Stop. It stands before me.
A being. Builder. From silicium.
Face? No expression. Cannot be otherwise.
Mine either. Stressed. Not only me.
Four hours. Painful legs. Growling stomach.
The perfect order must not be interrupted.
After the compulsory rounds,
the world-aiding silicium-based being
returns beyond the wall and it is most certain
that is shall not to return anymore.
Unless it wants to. It may do so. But there is a price.
We are no different. I could do so too.
Is there a price? I'll do it.
self-translated from Hungarian
