The Wait

It is not what we consider as a tentative state, when we look into the matter, which requires waiting. Some of us, who have experienced life with worn out slippers, know this inevitable phase profoundly and well. We happen to meet a bunch of people on the other side of the fence, accustomed to their influences, connections, networks, privileges, who try to opine their road map as similar to us. But then considerable and countable few "of us," still linger in the waiting room. Often perplexed by the fast forward pace of the fenced out people demonstrating their smart moves. Fenced out, because they hardly would shuffle back towards the bridge mood, being Busy with their Hot Soup gulped with forks.

The waiting hall people, meanwhile are left out, outsmarted and considered not smart enough to confront the galvanized lots. The waiting list increases with numerous denominations that projects:

To loneliness which is different from being glorified-alone; to the simpletons that get easily left out of the pronounced circle of inter-textuals; to the inabilities of height, looks which are considered as Greek Gods; to the realists who cannot fake or flirt with cheese on their grins, though they smile but get caught up with their pain and since they cannot hide; to the disproportionate status of genders no matter who, but those who do not stand out although they stand by the notion of compassion; to the geographical Other.

They recognize and yes, because they recognize the power game of those who glue themselves like starch.