Monotony thy name is Death

Work. What does this word mean? For those who love what they do, a good 8 hours spent in tedious but enjoyable chaos. For others, it's a clock. A clock that reminds them every second of their day, of their bondage. The reasons for this might be many, for some it's financial condition or for others the lack of mettle to make it to a minimal position of importance in this country. And they blame us for brain drain.

When thinking of our country's population, many can see a youthful workforce, the bulge in our age structure brightening the country's future. To the common crowd, it's just one more face, one more body to trample. One more livelihood to eat. All this competition in the name of competence, for what? For people to perform better? For them to somehow nudge their way into the privileged 10%? A goal perhaps so far away, it's more of a mirage.

Success is subjective. It doesn't matter how your family or your community describes it. It's what makes you happy. At least that's what I used to believe. But in a country where food is as scarce as fossil fuels, we'd rather grind others to reach for anything we can get our hands on. Doesn't matter if it's menial. Way below our potential, miles away from whatever we thought we'd be doing in the next 10 years.

So all those questions you were made to answer in college? About how you see yourself in 10 years? Forget it. It's nothing but creating an imaginary oasis right before you die.Your marks may matter, but only for containing that image. Making your way into this world, is going to be insane. And sometimes you'll feel all of it is completely pointless. And perhaps it is. We're here to find out. It's just the way we take is undefined.Just be sure you'll be alright with the possibility of getting nowhere.

For all your trial
I give you dust
Distress, the most beautiful kind
Masked within you and me.

Relationships just fray away
Scream, just to make them stay.
If it could hear you,
It would say, it is the problem of the brain
So overworked, ridden with wires intertwining in the most darkest of places
Still producing light
But not for too long.
You're not really here anymore
For you to belong.