The Window

 

 

 

She said “You know you are good at it!

Its long you haven’t written those words

In a row of rhythmic meters”

I blushed & replied,“ Poet’s block, you see?”

“Oh! Just look out ‘the window

Inspiration galore.” Said she

I looked up from the sheaf of papers

Stacks of files lay askew on the table

The plasma screen blinked twice

Some virus…obscure, deadly
A few plastic folders lay hither and thither
Holding a Proposal or two for life
“Harbingers of change”, they said,
“Once implemented, systemic corruption

Would sooner than not fade away…”

I sighed, the pain in my neck

Was again giving trouble

“Cervical”, the doc said,

“Was a lifestyle disease”

I smiled, “Nowadays, medical terms

Did boast of aesthetic ease.”

Shrugging off my sedentary thoughts

I neared the wooden cabinet

Bulging to bursting point

There was hardly any space

Neither on the shelves nor in the room

Shared by two

The door shutting us off

From the rest

A caged existence none the less

Could have been the cause of asphyxiation

But for the AC angled cleverly

To pacify jarred nerves

As stale breath mingled in the air
And she said “Look out ‘the window”

The phone rang…

 A staccato of urgency
My boss
As static as the wooden boards of my cabin
Sometimes I was at a loss
How well he was in sync
With the colorlessness
Around
Secured in his high-backed chair
Not so secured perhaps…
He always left me acutely aware
Of my clumsiness, my lack of everything

I shook myself out of reverie

At times things get so awry
Oh! She said, “Look out ‘the window”
Remember?

If only…