I feel empty as I return my laptop, ID, keys. Why did my brain refuse to get laundered? I walk out of the soulless high-rise, drinking in the mellow evening light, and pat my knee. We’re going to be alright.
The alarm rang too early but I shake myself awake. Couldn’t miss the office today. As I haul the laptop bag over my shoulder, my left knee squeaks angrily; 57 is no age to do the laptop-Powerpoint-glib talk corporate dance. Those mint-fresh MBAs carry their laptops like the holy Bible, sing like phoenixes! Ha, brainwashed at the altar of money!
I feel empty as I return my laptop, ID, keys. Why did my brain refuse to get laundered? I walk out of the soulless high-rise, drinking in the mellow evening light, and pat my knee. We’re going to be alright.
Paritosh Chandra Dugar
20/8/2020 06:22:03 am
An appealing thought beautifully expressed. Well done, Paromita. Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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