"workstation" poems
He lets her touch him intimately, without emotion
when in some pretext she is alone,
in his cubicle with him, discussing things inane,
a software environs need not be concerned
some times when she passes through,
her longing crosses limits, these days
it has become frequent, to the extent others to notice.
she found silly excuses, fifth time this morning
but he can't hurt her feeling, a team member valued,
she contributes to his success, as the team leader
He can see her need for comfort,
under her tired eyes dark shadows of sleepiness
lay curled like a depressed mongrel,
yet another duel she had with that nincompoop
she calls her husband, all through last night;
a sudden pang he feels calls his wife
asks if she is fine, to ease his guilt that raises
its head like a snake from under the cover of grass.
"A housewife has a thousand things to do, why don't you
find a buxom colleague to flirt, if that is the need"
she banters and teases him on his illogical concerns.
Through the glass parting he discreetly watches her face
heard a murmur arising inside,"the ***** plans the next move"
panicked he tried to concentrate on the screen
that looked frightening, the deadline getting nearer and nearer
by each hour, he heard the heavy foot fall
at that moment he heard a thud, as if something fell down
everyone was running towards her workstation.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 10:04 AM UTC
he was walking very fast pace
as if he was scared to lose in a race
but this wasn't a race, what was missing?
maybe someone he desires to be kissing?
i took steps forward, my eyes met a kind face
but how come when he turned around i saw a black rag in his mouths place?
liquid hues poured out of my head in deep confusion
is this the man in front of me only a delusion?
i tugged at it, and discovered his lips were sown together by purple thread
worried for his soul, his eyes and lips bled
he clench my wrists, chained them and injected my hips
i didn't know where i was going but i entered a lunar eclipse
i woke up as a light flickered and then focused on me
they stripped me of comfort, and placed lingerie on my intoxicated body
"four thousand?" " five thousand?" that's what i heard from a deep voice
"Sold for 5,000!" i was enslaved by a man, I didn't have a choice
blind folded, i counted the seconds it took to reach this location
i heard screams, moans, and violence. it was a workstation
he threw me in a tiny room and locked me out, no where to run and hide
i lie on a ****** bed, exhausted, and being tied
i saw a blur? a man, he stormed in and locked the door behind him
i tried my best to get him off me but i was too weak and the light was dim
tied down, no escape only submission to a man who doesn't have a name
numb and barely living, he slid harshly in between my legs, i couldn't scream, i couldn't cry, then he came
~a.h.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 4:31 PM UTC
It didn't start off with a white cake
carrying forty-something candles
Rather, it was the chimes of the phone alarm
later, a cold run through the foggy streets
then back home to nurse the joint pains
The phone buzzed with messages
first from the wife, then my best friend,
then my brother, to whom I got to respond
"and the same to you too"
then my ghost friend, who only sends a message
on this day, each year
before vanishing out of my life
I'm home today, having a party of sorts
with the twin monitors
and the tailless mouse
At least they look dressed up for the occasion
sitting on the workstation
in their black soft-plastic jackets
They don't dance or sing or even mumble anything
They only look down at my fingers
going back and forth
around the letters of the alphabet
as I go to work while sitting at home
At this age, I muse to myself
some people don't want to remember
how they have moved closer
in the journey towards
forgetting one's name, family
and eventually how to eat
And almost imperceptibly
we have become the dad, or mum
or auntie that we looked up to
or held under the magnifying glass
and judged for their decisions on our lives
But now I'm only trying
to live in the moment
as I pour a bit of whiskey
swirl it around gently in the glass,
watching if it shows
within its brown circular current
the regrets of the past
or the shrouded future
and hopefully, the number of my age
May 15, 2022
May 15, 2022 at 9:22 AM UTC
Just in 5 days of being in Zanzibar
I have concluded that a pair of jeans in this heat is not working
By midday my jeans are moist and heavy from my sweat
Seated on my workstation I can feel the sweat forming in between my thighs
And running down my legs
All the time my jeans have saved me
But not on this trip
I still have 56 more days on this island
I need to buy me some kanga or chitenge
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 4:37 AM UTC
I ponder, about the stars in the sky
and the endless expanse of space.
It's complete silence and variation in states
I ponder, what are we doing in this place?
We seek light and desire sound,
But it's all dark and silent all around.
What is it that distinguishes day from night?
How is it that wrong is never right?
I ponder what our true nature is.
Is it chaos? Or is it peace?
Are humans really natural and rational?
The body is superficial and it's peripherals;
Programmable.
We contradict everything in the universe.
Our intellect only makes it worse.
We ought to be silent and at peace,
While we're noisy and fight for piece.
Why is it like this? I think I know,
We've ignored a tiny detail called the soul
The body which you constantly love;
Is actually the peripheral of this soul.
The soul is a universe in itself,
Maybe a reflection or a workstation of it.
It's in perfect harmony with the universe,
It's silent, it's peaceful. The only wait: is for us.
-The Silent poet
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC
Romance is a sweaty assembly line
With shop talk and flying metal shards
Cracked safety glasses and warning signs
Hot oil, bolts and screws, and heat guards
Romance is 12-hour long night shifts
After 8 hours of class and study
Stuck in a warehouse with men on forklifts
And a redhead too shy to talk to me
Romance is a bold negotiation
Bargaining for his job next to her
A week of cleaning his workstation
A week to get her interest to spur
Romance is a stupid expression
A flower, chocolates and teddy bear
In front of the guys, a bad decision
Her running away, face as red as her hair
Romance is a terrible movie
She insisted I watch at her place
A film - to this day - I’ve yet to see
And, yet, its mention still makes my heart race
Romance is losing yourself as you touch
Fingers running softly through her long hair
And feeling lucky she wants you so much
Even after an ill-timed teddy bear
Feb 23, 2020
Feb 23, 2020 at 2:02 PM UTC
The dark cloud found me that morning. Consumed by anxiety, I threw myself onto the sofa, pulled the blanket over my head, and closed my eyes to the world.
Oddly feeling weightless and fatigued, I meandered to the bathhouse for a shower, hoping that would help. I breathed, I argued, bargained, and prayed. At least I felt clean.
It was nearly ten O’clock when I departed my home. I strung on another late work day into my week, but I wore that string of black pearls with little guilt. I set up my workstation and completed a task before being summoned to the airport. Ben was finally coming home.
With low energy, I greeted my husband and drove back to work. We hugged and kissed and he drove off. I slugged my way back to the office feeling tired, empty, and numb.
My attempt at productivity that afternoon proved futile. I had to reset, and I knew what to do.
I grabbed my binoculars, my shades, and my tunes (but I didn’t listen to them). I let the flow of traffic set the mood.
Strolling up Main Street, I felt weightless even more, like outside of myself. I arrived at the riverside. As I stood at the water’s edge, the birds flew by and I studied them. I began my checklist as I usually do, then united myself with a familiar dirt path. Immersed in the forest, I tried to breathe my demons away, but they wouldn’t move. I continued.
On my route, I heard bird calls in the brush. I saw a large, brown fledgling begging for lunch. Its parents arrived, but to my surprise their offspring doubled them in size.
It was a baby cowbird that had been laid in its foster parents’ nest. It’s not the vireos’ fault, they only did what they knew best.
At that moment it clicked. I saw my feelings manifested in an avian play. I couldn’t let the invader win the day.
Depression is like a cowbird, I told my friend. When you feed it, it thrives and grows, killing the chicks of joy nested in your head.
Lesson learned, don’t feed the cowbird.
Jun 30, 2022
Jun 30, 2022 at 6:50 PM UTC
Who Am I ?
Defined by Occupation,
Or branded by Designation,
Is my identity beyond my Workstation ?
Relationships Galore,
Friend, son, lover, even a Mentor,
Transiting perceptions, is there More ?
Worshiping a higher Power,
A Temple, a Mosque or a Church Tower,
Labeled for my faith of the Hour ?
A mirror unraveling my Quest,
Permeating through the mind Possessed,
Finding my true self Unsuppressed.
Who Am I ?
A Flowing Potential
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 11:51 AM UTC