Tuesday, October 27, 2009

The daily grind

Back to the wall, spikes through the brain
Work's to be done, no crew, no crane;
Deadlines trample by, crushing out life
The little that's left in these grey cubicles of gripe.

Mounds of papers await the train
The train of enthusiasm, of voluntary pain;
The screen goes off at this moment of strife
Just post-lunch trauma and slothful vice.

A walk to the cooler, is hard to restrain
The only possible cure for this mental sprain;
Then on the way a pretty face smiles,
Shoos out the rains, brings back the rhymes.

4 comments:

Mahima said...

Ironically, I read this, deep in post-lunch spite,

Except, unlike you, no hunky face in sight.

But "Voila! a Masterpiece!", the bells in my head, chime,

And then, you dare claim, that you can't rhyme!

Roy said...

@Mahima: There you go again,
making me whine;
Reminding me your rhyme darn it,
Is always better than mine!

Mahima said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Mahima said...

The post was removed by author. So, the ring my hat's no longer in..

When you fight a girl with compliments, you can rest assured you'll win. ;)