Prison home

The steady blare of flashing headlights,

Channelled into my gazing vision as I,

seated comfortably within four walls

Of an air-conditioned metal object,

Often considered a luxury symbol.

The constant stream of headlights,

An intrusion into the impairment of my glare,

Equivalent to my personal struggles,

Wherein society serves as the intruding monster!

The persisting headlights, like the metaphorical representation of my daily living.

A constant gaze on my every move, every action, every decision.

They say lights guide you home...

But these lights guide me to enslavement,

A submission into an apparent moral path of goodness and righteous living!

The comfort of my luxury car provided anything but what it advertises for,

Trapped, trapped, trapped!

I gazed up into the distant sky,

covered with foggy clouds and a vague outline of another metal vehicle- an airplane.

Serving the same purpose of convenient transport, yet! The plane felt like a distant feeling,

Of power and liberation from these mangled chains of oppression and the false garb of connectivity.