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?