n.i.m.b.u.s.

the ant OR constant labour

the ant who was born
into a prosperous nest,
had the time,
to ponder its being,
unoccupied by the bliss,
of constant labour.

the ant, among many,
saw the nest,
the history of constant
death and birth,
and all the nameless graves
that withered into nothing.

curiosity tried to stave off morbid thoughts,
the nest was now using leaves to gather water,
new breeds of fungus were being discovered ,
and yet life, and the suffering,
all stayed the same,
nothing ever changed.

the ant saw that he would soon be erased,
nothing cared if he had dreams or aspirations,
nothing mattered,
the pages in the history books,
would soon be rotting,
turned to dust.

once a captive to his body,
a slave to all his instinct,
he broke himself,
rushing past the rows of workers,
out into the sky,
yelling for the birds to come.

in his final moments,
he felt what it was like to fly.
below, a giant came,
and kicked the nest,
erasing fifty generations,
of constant labour.