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Poetic Interlude - Page 2

  • You got the pink slip

    You were a great employee,

    Your appraisals were always 'outstanding ',
    But when feedbacks began to take a dip,
    You got the pink slip.
     
    Your weren't just a good performer,
    You brought so much to the table,
    But when your 'figures' began to slip,
    You got the pink slip.
     
    You were the one they always wanted,
    Your skills amazed them no bound,
    But when your greatness sometimes took a skip,
    You got the pink slip.
     
    You used to be considered iconic ,
    Your personality traits/ quirks, their ideals.
    But when perfection faucet began to drip,
    You got the pink slip.
     
    You brought everybody together, and kept
    morales and achievements, always high.
    But when you became a deserted ship,
    You got the pink slip.
     
    You were also the party starter,
    Your EQ made for the best confidante.
    But when your inner strength began to chip,
    You got the pink slip.
     
    But everyone makes mistakes,
    And sometimes let go of who they cherish.
    Erroneous humans gave you the pink slip,
    Wiser humans would call it a blip.
  • I need a parking spot

    In this bursting metropolis,

    Life is just an unending run.
    Through the stations of pause,
    wait and do, up until, 'done'.
     
    A drive here, a ride there,
    Always bumper to bumper traffic.
    Sometimes you just gotta walk,
    Days could be static or erratic.
     
    Amidst all this uncertainty,
    Routine helps me stay sane.
    Commute duration may vary,
    At least I stick to my lane.
     
    Times when I'm fickle with it,
    It's an open invite to trouble.
    Zipping encourages aggression,
    Or I could be headed into a rubble.
     
    Even when I make it back,
    I still can't seem to call it a day.
    In the mesh of parked vehicles,
    Some parked in my spot, or in the way.
     
    A child dreaming of adulthood,
    Surely isn't tricked hence by REM.
    How would the leaves branch out,
    After a pest attack to the stem?
     
    This isn't at all the life I wanted,
    I imagined an earthly place called home.
    It needs to be real sans superhero ,
    fairy godmother or gnome.
     
    I just long for my designated spot,
    For my vehicle and I.
    Come and go as I like or just,
    be still and watch life pass by.
  • O death, come on wings to me!

     

    I'm such a coward I don't have the courage to kill myself,‎

    But now would be the appropriate time to exonerate oneself,
    Of all the sins one has committed against all that is right and true,
    Not being honest, sincere, having integrity and a genuine clue.
     
    Why is life so hard in circles, periodically, without fail?
    I had made myself happy with myself, no company, no male.
    I thought joblessness was freedom, the will to work- sacred,
    Little did I know that the world and even my family judged me by balance sheet's red.
     
    I can't seem to do anything right, everything is judged,
    Over 3 decades on this planet, and my actions are still misread.
    Death doesn't come so swiftly to the likes of me, wishing it were here,
    No, I gotta learn lessons, nothing that is easy, all that is severe.
     
    I'm really tired, my hair's turning white, not gray,
    Everything is hurt- my vanity, pride and feelings astray.
    Is this depression, or cowardice on an individual level?
    I dunno if I should apologise, express anger or grovel.
     
    I've not accomplished anything at all, professionally or personally,
    My parents still spend sleepless night worrying over me dismally.
    A handful of people shall make it for my eventual funeral,
    I haven't touched more lives, nor made a difference, that's real.
     
    Just a speck of the universe, as immaterial as when I was born,
    Life hasn't made any difference, the kernel still stuck to the corn.
    My parents told me different, I was meant to be special,
    Do big things, touch lives, influence people and die admirable.
     
    I don't have proud parents, a fulfilling job, or a man that wishes to marry me,
    Oh, isn't this the bottom of the pit, time to put an end to misery?
    But I don't have the strength, the courage to make it happen,
    My wits, my sensors, my wants, I guess, just didn't manage to sharpen.
     
    I neither know how to end this existence, nor this piece of poem,
    Go out with a bang, not a fizzled fuze, just show 'em.
    Of all my written words, alas this is one doused in tears,
    Heartache, depression n bleakness- that's the wisdom of my years.