He keeps me shrouded in shredded pieces
sprawled and reclusive and momentarily
locked up vanishing in mediocrity.
Like someone who is afraid of the sanity
and Charles Dicken’s tale of two cities
and I never get to understand Virginia
Woolf, why her heart cries like a wolf
in the night longing for words as
earnest as Oscar Wilde. Dorian must be
some kind of lover of self and boisterous
as Ernest Hemingway. Not in the league
of imagination pours in my cup of tea.
Blood of ink flooding in my desk.
Days and days of wandering and wondering
where the words hide in the curtains.
That great expectation.
Lucky is Jane Austen for she can choose
not to be shrouded and shredded but
privileged unlike some Emily Bronte’s
Heathcliffe who tries to redeem romance.
Some hearts that pound in the will of the horse
and to kill a mockingbird of Harper Lee.
I hope to catch the rye like JD Salinger.
Solitude Amidst the Maddening Crowd
Hames 
Parachute
Posted in Current Affairs, Literature, Philosophy, Poetry, Politics, Social Commentary, Society, tagged art, battleground, beat, blink, brain, bullet, burn, capsule, clothing, combat, company, corporate, cubicle, cunning, deadline, deceive, desk, down, eject, engine, evade, fall, fly, free, grace, high, incoming, learn, life, look, machine, manuever, men, need, out, paper, parachute, pile, plane, poem, poetry, rain, ride, save, seat, shark, sheep, sign, signal, sky, snake, soldier, speed, strategy, survival, today, touch, tray, up, war, warning, weapon, wield, wire, wolf, words, work, wound on June 5, 2010| 38 Comments »
Look at me.
A corporate soldier.
Working wounded
in the company of men-
wolves in sheep’s clothing.
Deceiving as snakes.
Cunning as sharks.
And here, the desk became
my war machine. Riding
in the engines of my brain.
Words and strategies wielding
like speeding bullets, as weapons.
I must learn the art of combat.
And it’s going to rain today.
But not of the sky.
But with paper planes
piling up in my incoming tray,
touching down like flies.
The cubicle is a battleground.
I need a saving grace, ejecting
from this capsuled seat. When
life signals on a high wire-
blinking signs of warning.
Maneuvering survival,
evading a free fall.
Beating the deadline.
I’m burned out.
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