Like a blade of grass, he is one too many. He saw his kindred souls all around in multitudes, like specks of dust, their ethereal presence engulfed his vision, a vision that never looked beyond. Copies of copies scanned each other, from head to toe, each were trapped in their own mirror maze. He wavered, helpless against wafts of thin air, but winds of change always missed him or he ducked them. His bent will made him droop, the onus on him crippled his free will. But he always found solace for his grief, sadistic even it was, for his brethren were in the same quagmire, drowning in a abyss of forlornness. Under the blue-blooded sky, they shared the common ground, yet were searching for the uncommon, identity being a holy grail. Darwininan chaos echoed in their spirits , pulling him under their clout, to make him one among many. Now he is here, there and everywhere, rooted to his worldly concerns, revelling in his idle hedonistic senses. Not that he is God, he is just his plaything, move when said, speak when said. At will, God and his favorites crushed him and his brethren in each of their mirror mazes with their glass heels. Strangely, their mirror mazes always imploded, so as the shards left others but their own self unscathed. Faith non-existent, it was time alone that healed his open wounds, his ephemeral memories never a hindrance to the therapy. Frustration seared within him, but it fizzled as quickly as it takes to snap the perfect photograph. Chains of non-committal bounded him and his fellow sons of soil, they never wanting to take a step ahead, a step further. Questions if raised, were rhetoric to the point of absolute conviction. Little did they realize that, like blades of grass, they showed their blunt sides to the paramount forces. Life is a matter of contentment. To be content with the system , to be content with way everything is was his way of life. Risks were alien to him, because he was content and his cautious crow-steps was not helping the cause. His fragility got him reduced to a cartoon figure, a popular one at that. Immaculately leveled to ground reality, He neither stuck out like a sore thumb nor like a golden spoon. He used to wonder why he chooses inaction as the solution for all that he wanted to fight against. He used to wonder why he is unwilling to shake the ground of the system which got so deep-rooted in its immoralities. But all he does is sputter like a wet-wick ignited candle. He is they, you and I. The single common man.