The Big Fake

Lost senseless.
Feeling helpless.
A year since the transition,
no where close to my life's mission.
I don't recognise it, by my own admission.
Trying to teach people what I don't know,
In a facade of mock intellect I glow.

Decadent programmers, derelict personalities.
People die, resources are born.
Work and worship falls by the wayside,
As spreadsheets of efforts and estimate analyses ride.
Putting my mouse to the grinding wheel,
I step back to sense what I feel.

An ad blares "Life is calling, where are you?"
"As I am taking a concall, I am going to have to put you on hold"
Some dreams remain, only few.
What I clutch at as I lament the loss of the ones I sold.
For a few dirty American dollars passed through greasy palms,
till it becomes clean prisitine Indian rupees, I am supposed to have no qualms.