There is enough laziness in him
but he enjoyed cruelty at times.
During the growing up years he was amused
by the struggle of the ant he played with.
But now, sitting at his desk
like unattended luggage, he thinks
of that ant's struggle to freedom
which was instinctive rather than idealistic.
Ideals, he thinks, are for humans
who are mangled by the gears of life.
Ants appear simple in their puny form
which is never too heavy, to be disposed off.
They still die with the same twig that he once used
But now he is less amused with their plight.
He finds himself tied down to a forward march
to store food for the rainy season.