The Giant Machine

It’s uncanny how differently they are seen,
given whatever angle…

One sees a jungle of servants, vessels molded for utility,
modeled for pleasure
-edited here and there to breathe the optimal result.
They must smile when expected,
express gleeful surprise given the appropriate trigger.
They must work until
the sun explodes in a thousand tantrums,
and retires having fulfilled everyone’s dreams for them.
They must be that,
never this.
No one has bothered to ask them
what they wanted before it all began
Or if whatever it was that they wanted
has evolved.

Another perceives diamonds trampled
by the monster named ‘So-Called Civilisation’
and smothered by the grease of Superiority
-she that runs The Giant Machine.
The Rigid Assumption of Superiority,
forged via narrow hallways
from which imagination fled
-only to cough up a haughty, pretentious priesthood
known as Our Fellow People.

Aside: Apparently, Our Fellow People are us
-if we were distinguished.
I laugh at that rumour
as it makes its umpteenth round.

All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2021 Tebogo Ndlovu

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