11 March, 2009

Question 18

who stole my leisure?
and wired up my mind?
what happened to my pleasure?
what have you left behind?
silly poetry is all I write
and strange is what I feel
you come - a star in my night
to hand me a raw deal.

08 March, 2009

Letting out the steam

I am scurrying through my life. Books are piling up unread. And yet I buy some more. Work becomes the proverbial demon. Creeping into every darn facet of my scrambled life. Deadlines are resignedly sighing around me. People are disappearing before I can even recognize them. I want to walk in that park but Mr. Time just wouldn't oblige. And then I have this conversation.


A: "Is there something wrong? I mean you're the one person I knew from before and ironically you're the one person I don't get to talk to."
C: "Ohhhh (insert useless sighing about too much work here and some mumbled guilty apologies). You know, I'm not this kind of person generally. I am a better person to know really."


WHAT? I'm not this kind of person generally? Then who the hell is this zombie-person inhabiting my space? Where is that person, the one who I am generally? Ok I am a changed person. So where is the unchanged person? I really want to (need to?) know. Cause I happened to be pretty much in love with her you know. I get my next cup of tea, actually ask D to make it for me just the way I like it (yeah office coffee is WAY too sweet. I vehemently detest it). I frown at the computer. I laugh half-heartedly at yet another line of terrible English. I say something mean and feel bad about it but don't apologize. I scowl at the clock. Its 4:30 pm. Presentation ohsosuchabloodywaste time. I get fired up over inconsequential shit being given out by some inconsequential shitball (the word has a history but lets not go there). I shrug (mostly at myself). I groan over another unfinished day. I doodle. I frown at the computer some more. I get a scolding. I give a scolding. I do some thinking. I get exhausted. I crave for some alcohol. A new post it fills up. Old ones are trashed. Things seem pretty much at the bottom, if you know where that place is. Not because of the way they are but because of what they did to that other person. The one I was? Remember?


But then bboy goes and writes me a poem. To cheer me up. To get me back to smiling. Succeeds. I do some more thinking. The exhausting variety. The quoted conversation doesn't seem so disturbing now. A doesn't realize it but he managed to give me perspective. I inwardly thank him for that. I fall as an exhausted plop on my bed. I manage a dream.

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