Inanimate Life

Lifeless, stood the clayey fetish

At the eastern corner.

Valueless? I asked myself.

They say it’s invaluable,

They say it’s life.

But what eyes have I been born with?

A blur of objects floated before my eyes,

Indiscernible to the banality of logic.

They say it’s the measure of love,

They say it brings you up.

But how do I care?

A carefree life I do lead,

Devoid of the falsity behind idol worship.

They join hands every day,

Every night;

They join hands to pass

The trivialities of life;

And some join hands to get their mother back.

A sense of urgency lingers on,

A sense of compulsion drives them;

They say it’s their dedication.

But time has come for me to speak:

No, it is not dedication.

Something of custom pushes them on,

Rather than the canon of spirituality inside.

Values have been forgotten,

Relations have been discarded,

And lives have ended mercilessly.

What has the lifeless fetish done?

Savored the sanguinary sight?

I don’t know.

They say everything happens for good.

They lie.