There they sat,
With a silent plea of acceptation,
Tainted with an air of desperation.
A hundred others sat,
In a room unknown,
Not talking, Not moving ,
Living in a bubble of their own.
Not many knew me,nor I them,
I just kept collecting,
Sorting them by roles,
Grouping them by needs.
It’s not their fault,
Not mine either,
We just sat there in each others vaults,
Squatting in a space which belonged to neither.
I refused to acknowledge them in daylight,
For knowing all along that I didn’t,
I drew a line,
And then a threshold.
I would collect only 200 of them,
Not a worthy person less, not a worthy person more.