In the morning, it will all start –
The traffic monster will roar,
Gnashing its teeth at your window glass,
Threatening to crush you in its steel jaws.
The world will breach your senses,
With boulders of sounds and catapults of vision,
And holding you captive in your cubicle,
Will demand the ransom of Civilization.
The impish sun will filter through the panes,
The trees will gyrate to the rhythm of the breeze
And the sad music of the heavenly stars,
Will be remembered, but heard no more.