Small job in a small town,
Small dreams, small hopes
Big disappointments hidden
Behind a smug exterior.
High point of existence, discussing
The nuances of “God of small things”!
Wallowing like a buffalo
In the mud-pool of complacence
And when the mud dries,
Flakes off under the harsh sun
Of reality, sniff at yourself and
Smile ruefully and
Say, “ I am doing OK, am I not?”
Mediocrity is an opiate,
A tranquilizer that limits dreams,
Throttles needs, stifles aspiration,
Narrows the horizon of thought.
Small man, small job in a small town,
With small hopes, small dreams.