Tuesday, March 20, 2007

The Pheromone Trail

Whispers roam in the streets like bits of paper
In a breeze that sweeps across
The faces turn around at the sudden hush
Of an unsaid word, resuming their routine
With a questioning nod, and a brooding silence
Prevails like after effects of this unfamiliar silence
Which echoes and is echoed back.
The ants continue their toil
On a pheromone trail which guides them
On an invisible route and leads them to their destination
And we men are lead too by our fates
Like these unseen lines that are drawn across
Our lives and crisscrossing with others’
A familiar face is surrounded by strangers
In its home land where its own territories
Are out of bounds and marked by the piss
Of carnivores whose grins project their canines
And instill fear in the meek lambs who bleat fearfully
And the ants continue their journey
On that pheromone track
And the familiar faces continue to be surrounded
By all the more strange faces
And we men continue to be lead by our stars
And keep on crisscrossing the lines
The territories continue to be marked by the hot piss
And the lambs continue to bleat meekly
With their wooly skins waiting
To be torn down by the hungry hounds
But the bits of paper are sucked up into a whirlwind
And so do the whispers tear into screams
And the faces turn around again
To hear the said words, leaving their routine
With unquestioning statue-like heads
In this pandemonium where after it breaks
Into sobs absorbed into patience
And the ants run helter-skelter too
Some one erased the pheromone trail.

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