Talking about sultriness of weather casually
And exchanging a few worried glances
Over yesterday’s stale news
Over a cup of tea, words were expressed between you and me
in a whimpering tone
To articulate the everyday violences of life
How when evening descends
Angst is perfectly brushed aside by parroted words of routinised life
What do you want to eat for dinner?
The wife asks to the man of the house
In a whirlpool of raging questions, small talk comes to the rescue to
Extinguish the political self of an individual
How one feels at home living under one uniform voice
Propaganda of small talk is immense, as immense as pure despair
whose threat is throttled every night in the name of sanitised life.
