Crowds of humans sacrifice their humanity
When they cross the binary checkpoints of the mall entrance
Not as humans, but as men and women
And they reappear inside the mall, smiling.
Like deluded robots, they walk briskly,
With shallow purpose from one brand to another
To purchase their happiness, a temporary high.
They are hopeless addicts; busy and beguiled.
In the fast paced race, a man who falls down
From a heart attack, on to the cold floor,
Begs for help, but has no voice.
No one has time to hear here.
He gets ignored, and he dies.
No one buries him.
“Mommy, I want ice-cream”, a baby screams,
Thousands of ice-creams of all colours are on display,
Red, red, red, and red, like that of stale blood.
“Where is my mommy”, another baby asks a stranger.
The stranger is walking too fast, his mind too busy.
The baby gets ignored, then killed in a washroom.
Shirts with real blood of real women,
Sold to rich women who are contemplating
The artistic patterns visible on the shirt
And not on the patterns of violence,
That the shirt smells of.
No one has time to know the history of this mall,
How it displaced many, who later died.
No one has time to spot the ghosts of people,
Who exist all around, trying to tell us,
How they died and why the died.
No one has time because Samsung and Apple
Have released their new phones, shiny, glamorous.
Khaadi has released their summer gender neutral line.
Outfitters has shirts with Frida Kahlo on them.
There are too many brands.
Too many billboards.
Too many advertisements.
Humanity has no time for itself.
The drug is just too strong.
Delusion almost immortal.
It is already too late.