Careless walkers on green pavements,

Grey figures move amidst the crowds.

The poverty infested broken households -

Hold a few of them, the workaholics.

 

There also exist some other kinds,

Like the ones with big mouths,

The talkative ones who annoys,

silent self-ridden zombie types.

Their walks give away their kind in nature,

They somehow hold the power of future.

 

But please just beware the silent loners,

For they are the most aware insidious.

Among all the other violent gregarious,

they strike without warning, nor ignorance.

 

Tall trees give them shade,

Tall buildings take their pride.

 

Looks on their faces always alarm,

But they remain vigilant and calm.

 

They’ve been here since maybe their fall,

Grey buildings fill with them at nightfall.

 

They sit across lit screens and just melt,

Into the cumulative world of great remit.

 

The gregarious ones are all about fun,

They lurk everywhere deriding everyone.

 

Making pals, transforming pain to pun,

Thinking less, acting at times like a nun.

 

They can be fun, but never expect a ton,

For they hide behind torments, undone.

 

Time can only tell, how often they fell,

Into the deep void of whim, they dwell.

 

Everyone transforms into a loner here,

Bullied by their own stress and abused by their

Recurring mood swings. They remain calm

But with a sharp blow, they awaken as warm.

 

Their life based on always pretend,

But they never try being an offend.

 

Brain dead, but their body works,

Neck deep they still carry chores.

 

No amount of pain can break them,

No load of work stress can crack them.

 

They’re awake even when asleep,

They can turn off and dive deep.