Hollow People

We are the hollow men

We are the stuffed men

Leaning together

Headpiece lilled with straw. Alas!

Our dried voices, when

We whisper together

Are quiet and meaningless

As wind in dry grass

Or rats' feet over the broken glass

In our dry cellar.

Shape without form, shade without color,

Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed

With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom

Remember us-if at all-not as lost

Violent souls, but only

As the hollow men,

The stuffed men.