Poetry: Sosa Sharon – The Worker Bees

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Swarms of locusts hover at the large LCD screen.
A booming voice calling, as resounding as the Islamic call to pray.
Each grey-suited locust beckoning to the call.
Frantic eyelids and leather bound cases hit each other as people fly to pray.
To pray towards the God of money as it’s seductive calls pulls to the high rise buildings.

As if in a slow film I find myself standing.
Tall, full and round
Calm and collect against the rush around me.
Kneading my fingers I sit on a metal bench. Wondering if I will ever make the 9:32 train.

On that day I didn’t want to.
In fact I couldn’t.

The sight of the human locusts repulsed me.
I was annoyed at their eagerness to throw their youth away.
To forget their passions, their sense of love.
I refused to become one.
I felt a light in me I was so sure of.
A brightness that would carry me away from the grey tide.

And then my train came.
And I got on.

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