Monday, 6 July 2009


An incense stick burns
at the white mini-spaceship overhead
Its beeper meekly beeps
The red light's obediently red
"The fire alarm works fine, Sir,
your cabin's checked.
Just keep the smoke detector on",
the office boy said.
He heard the boy, asleep with his eyes open, but His heart bled

And the next thing He knew, His desk was a pyre.
Now He wished the office copies were unceremoniously cremated there
Or that He could get a sub or a temp from somewhere
Or that just tomorrow, He'd be free as a bird to retire.
Hari Sadu had just canned His sabbatical-in-the-making.
Burning mad, He spitefully hated that liar
And although the smoke-D had failed to catch it,
His roof, his roof, his roof was on fire..

To office goers,

Cheers. Keedas. Peace.