People

Unable to differentiate
Reality from mirage.
Feeling like a person
Marooned in an ocean
Lamenting mournfully
"Water, water everywhere
But not a drop to drink."

Surrounded by an ocean of humanity
And yet lamenting
"People, people everywhere but..."
Stopping midsentence
Looking around with trepidation
Wondering...
What if someone gets to know?
Would it be considered ungrateful?
Possibly!
They don't realize
It's not them; it's me.

So much to say
But drowning in silence
For words transform
In the head of a hearer.
The speech, not the same as the thought.
The interpretation, differing from the speech.
So, what is the point of saying?
It's not for them, it's only for me.
 
So, I sit behind the wheel,
Not listening to Cavelera
Screaming attitude into my ears.
Pondering about the feelings residing within.
Looking for a resolution for the unresolvable.
Searching for order in the chaos.
Worried that I will live forever in this manner.
It's not theirs, only mine.

But who has the time for such thoughts?
Not even the self!
There's work to be done.
Let the world
Live its glorious lives.
Thinking about themselves
Their concerns only displayed
When convenient!
Your convenience not coinciding with mine
So, don't talk to me.
For I realize,
"People, people everywhere but
None to converse with."