The Crowds

The crowds mill around me, swishing past with swirling colors.

They leak scents and leave a bread-crumb trail of stories,

Unspoken words, unseen emotions, incomplete sentences and frantic typing.

Each is a world out of place, half a world away, in their own worlds.

Scrambling for survival, numb to the world,

Reveling in servitude, motivated by false hope.

They labor on, endlessly, silently, seemingly tirelessly.

Some head to drown their sorrows, some to drown their spouse,

Some head to kick back and relax, some to burn the midnight oil.

But all dream, some in vain, some in hope, of a better tomorrow.

 - Aviv Nair

16/Aug/2013