My car moved when I typed 1
It stopped at each 0
I type 1 and the lights were on,
At every 0, it was dark again...
I look away from the perfect screen
Through a glass window covered with dirt,
And I see beyond the translucence
A dimly lit house on the hillside,
A broken door left ajar,
A worn out roof that'd still let
A few raindrops seep in,
A man limping his way home
the way he would have run if he could.
I see the imperfections
Of the enormous tree
Under which a child could still be drenched-
One drop at a time.
I see a half-torn ten dollar bill,
Lying near some worm-ridden mangoes
The owner of the tree couldn't pluck on time,
Useless as both could be, the way
A writer would think away his time,
Without words to put on the paper.
I come home late at night
Another day of programming LEDS
and wheels of the tiny robot car,
Coding 1 or 0, I kill my day,
Only to find my night dimly lit
Like the house on the hillside,
Not dark enough,
Not bright enough.
I paint the walls of my room white,
The furniture in it- all black
Only to find my life a little grey-
Impossible to love,
Improbable to hate..