P. E. N. D. I. N. G.
So many tasks unending.
The road so long, the skies grim,
Work chokes, eyes brim.
Even as one sits to write
The mind summons points trite.
And even that gets not typed
As calls come in with matters hyped.
L. A. S. H. I. N. G.
It seems every moment one takes a beating.
The world seems against one
As events unravel, things get undone.
P. E. N. D. I. N. G.
That word keeps looming.
Threatening. Sleep depriving.
The word keep taunting.
It is difficult to keep breathing.
Panic is onsetting.
P. E. N. D. I. N. G.
Life is on hold: A thing of past this living.
Joy in work: A thing of past anything fulfilling.
Pride in professionalism: a gone case.
Quality: A dream so nebulous, no longer need to chase.
P. E. N. D. I. N....
- Written on 4 July 2022.
- Self-explanatory. I do not even want to list all that is due. I seem to be doing something all the while and accomplishing / finishing nothing. Some feat.
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