The yellow chair

There’ s an empty yellow chair beside my professor

I wonder who sits there, invisible and quiet

Tied to the chair by our bored gaze

Is it the spirit of Blasim?

Is it Ali? The truck driver?

Is it us from the future, a space to come back

In memory, one day, convulsively shuffling though

the broken images, the way time

eats our

memories,

Of our lighter college days

Ignorant of our privilege

Is it me, who instead of taking notes wanders

light-years ahead

in a parallel universe

Where the future

does not feel

As daunting, but is in fact a tangible

reality

Within my reach

But how do I tell you,

how tired I am

How many times I contemplate lying down

On the concrete,

the dirty carpet,

the cold tiles

Wherever I am,

I just wish I could

press

pause

Wait, hold on a second, this carousel is going too fast

I’m dizzy, nauseated

I want to get down

Because where else would I want to go?

When the world feels like it’s heading

Intoxicated

Exponentially

Accelerating

Inevitably,

against a brick wall?