AT THE WORK
PLACE
BENOY P.J
It is so good
When one could move out
When confinement doesn't triumph
And people move about
But that is not an ideal that many would cherish
We are used to hearing the sound of chains.
Somebody sits outside
Trying to take time out
From the ongoing training
That seldom stops.
Can we have a moment’s time
Outside the cubicle
Outside biometrics and power’s blockade
Away from the saffron shit
That tries to encompass.
Outside, people move about
As they should
Like real folk
Swinging about in a gusto
Caring not about the books that prescribe
The mode of one’s gait
And the thick air of empty gossip.
Somebody carries a sheaf of papers in a thick file
Another one of those that chase their own tails
A man walks up the ramp
With a stiff neck
A few flower pots for plants that will never see the light
Someone walks down with a ladder
Puts it up and climbs up to fix a fuse.
The surveillance camera that knows no rest
Has been twisted towards the sparrow’s nest
By some benevolent hand.
A fat man speaks into his phone
Half covering his embarrassed smile
With his hand.
A boy walks past
His right knee bandaged
And a slight grimace on his face.
The red carpet lies folded under the staircase
As if it’s job has been done.
People waiting on the rows of chairs
Look up at the clock , scratches their head
And curses silently under their breaths.
A woman sneezes, turns around
and climbs the stair in a hurry.
An officer takes a short look at his uniform before entering.
The movement of a mounted soldier in the glass cage
Horse hoofs and whining .
A curt greeting
A sneer
A hearty laugh.
You feel like shouting into the emptiness
Giving a catcall
Something.
A cat scratches its paw on the carpet
The man at the counter yawns and stares behind him
Two pigeons sit on the ledge and peck at each other
As if kissing was not already banned.
I take off my glasses and wipe away the sweat on my brow,
There was the brightness of midday
And the heat.
