Cosmeticity

I stand in the middle of a playground And the players move around me I look at them and sigh Do they even realize that they’re aging? They are busy trying A futile attempt to win They have rules made by them They have defined happiness too They want to master the unconquerable All the while being slaves themselves They run in a circle Believing that there is an end I cannot stop my laughter Neither can the birds in the sky They are the dominoes Who are controlled not by themselves They live in a cosmetic city A city in their minds My feverish hands call out But they pay me no heed I am, after all, one of them