Literature-Poem

Èrshísì
Poem by Manay Myra

Three hands keep moving,
On the numbers they're pointing.
What have you done, and what have not?
Whatever, hands are not gonna stop.

Tik-tak, tik-tok,
Shall I dance, or shall I dub?
Tik-tak, tik-tok,
Shall I just watch, pretending I am numb.

White is still white, a blank.
Typed, trashed, tired -aspiring female monk.
Respite, enjoy a cup of a powder black
Maybe it could help, for brain to perform the task. 

On a large screen we always see
Numbers, masks and authority
Entertained in a hospice? No.
Waiting for remedies? Yes.

A hospice, serve as cage
Don't go out or don't be loud.
How will our esse will be?
We only have Èrshísì.