I sit in these 4 walls
Surrounded by all these big talks, posted on those 4 walls
All is in superlatives, nothing is mediocre
Only mediocrity which follows is the one from the breathing beings, roaming these office corners
I sit upright in the chair, arms rested, all suited, tip-toe till the hair
Surrounded by blank chairs and blank stares
I pacify them by doing small talks
Reminiscing, how we were runners and now see, how we have become bloated onlookers
I call the gentleman that I am waiting for, he doesn’t answer, the number flashes on his screen he has forgotten he had meeting scheduled, curses who is this bugger
The cleaner walks in singing, he is having a gala time, oblivion of the slaughter house lullabies which eclipse the sunlight
I get up and take my leave
Call it a day, shoot myself and go to a blissful sleep
Next morning I get up and write about it with ease
Then I repeat
Not asking for once, what’s the matter with me? When will I be awake?
When will I go and do nothing, just be, and throw pebbles in the lake?