The Queue

To the end of the queue
You middle-class phoren aspiring Indian.

About the endless lines in your nation
Your forefathers held for landlines and ration.

With a sincere belief to mould social echelons
You liberal English-speaking phoren aspiring Indian.

The comforts of your roots
Your progeny begets better future.

About the dead-end job
You mediocre middle-class phoren aspiring Indian.

With the sweat on your brow
Your dollar-dreams on the brink to crystallise.

The countless piles of your existence
Your kismet is signed for a price of a bar-coded paper.
You liberal, mediocre, middle-class phoren aspiring Indian
To the end of the queue.

*(Written whilst waiting patiently in the corridors of Visa offices.)

25 May 2018

Categories: Poetry, Travel

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