Poetry; Poetry And Only Poetry

Telling me to go to office; spending marathon hours of the day under menacing eyes of my disgustingly manipulative boss,
Was like asking a man to gallop to the absolute pinnacle of Everest; without fingers on his hands; toes on his bohemian feet.

Telling me to go to office; tolerating the spurious mountain of smiles besieging my boss’s face; behind which sprouted the satanic devil,
Was like commanding the crystal blue expanse of brilliantly empty sky; to shower upon torrential cloudbursts of majestically pelting rain.

Telling me to go to office; incorrigibly adhering to each instruction of my boss; which could infact imperil the ambience of the celestially blissful surrounding,
Was like the world’s richest man not getting the object he badly wanted; even as his treasury overflowed with glittering gold and superfluously satanic silk.

Telling me to go to office; bowing down with obeisance infront of the unsurpassable battalion of blood sucking clients who frequented; the abominable interiors day
in and day out,
Was like leaving the most preposterously gigantic fish; in heart of the overwhelmingly sweltering desert.

Telling me to go to office; singing an incessant fountain of praise for my boss in front of the treacherously conventional society; when infact my beloved fervently awaited my presence; with tears welling in her eyes,
Was like asking a soul wholesomely dead since centuries unprecedented; to bounce with euphoric exhilaration; just like a new-born child.

Telling me to go to office; breathing in monotonous space indefatigably round the clock; when infact my impeccably struggling comrades; desperately wanted my
help outside,
Was like placing the most appetizingly succulent meals on this globe before the roaring lion; when ironically he didn’t posses a single tooth in his colossal mouth.

Telling me to go to office; yes-bossing my hideously uncouth seniors; as they kicked me relentlessly on my hindside; for apparently no fault of mine,
Was like expecting a garden of mesmerizing roses to blossom on cold blooded chains of bare rock; without a droplet of rock; without a chunk of fertile soil.

Telling me to go to office; cuddling my boss’s pertinently pampered son; amiably caressing the festoon of glorious jewels on his snobbish persona; as if he was my
own blood,
Was like asking the belligerent martyr to shoot an arrow in the birds eye; without a bow in his fingers; a robust thumb on his palms.

Telling me to go to office; lick the already glowing paths with my tongue; so that the most infinitesimal speck of dirt didn’t stick to my boss’s designer class shoes,
Was like asking the flamboyantly flaming Sun; to deluge every corner of this planet; with a blanket of morbidly deplorable darkness.

So it is my humble plea to you O! Almighty lord; to make me quit horrendous office forever; relinquish its corridors of insatiable greed and malice till the time I lived,
Keep writing; evolving, fantasizing; breathing; eating; sleeping; dying and taking an infinite more births; for just poetry; poetry and just poetry.


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