Paint me a Busy Bee

My solitude did beckon me
My emptiness, fancy-free
No hustle or bustle I would heed
I'd rise each morning
and not think till wee
and there I'd be,
kicked back into writing prolifically

I never thought of days, really
How they'd end and where I'd be
So far estranged from meaning,
such obscene privacy

Sitting on my computer busily,
work to do, mails to see
And IM friends to chat hastily

Sitting back with my coffee sometimes,
a sip before it tastes like tea
Then the phone would ring
and keep ringing busily

The first to call, dearest of all
My mom...
"Did you make it to the office at all?"
My manager then would have a second go,
"What time did you come in?
How's the workflow?"
 
And slowly the day,
from here begins to take shape
They all want to know
what, when, where I will be

Available for what they need
I need to schedule that call immediately

Off then to the nearest hold
A quick bite, a grub, hot or cold
A quick text and a glance at the TV
What's happening there?
Another celebrity stamping his hold,
and the lot of us fixated ever more
 
Some more caffeine can't top that
Another cup and the day begins again

A meeting and a plan of action
Effecting schedules and curbing interaction
mechanical, mechanical...

"Another meeting, tomorrow then, will you please?"
"Sure, of course!" The need of the hour, you see!

A deviation then can seem like a curse,
like an emergency ward with a missing nurse
and can things really go more astray
living in a dream that doesn't begin any day
 
While in school, my teacher would often tell me
"If you observe carefully life will teach you poetry"

But, oh, this monotony rhymes with distaste
what was I thinking and
how is this professional if
deep within it doesn't seem chaste

Ah, daydreams! I just overshot my break
Get back to you again later

I've to go chase someone's dreams

While making a report a message beeps,
from a friend it reads
"Are you on for the movie tonight?"

Reacting with a "Sorry"
I feel almost wishfully apologetic,
could I have taken this flight?

The might of fancy
and this materialistic hold,
how have fortunes faded and
and at what rate am I growing old?

Suddenly, it all becomes amusing again,
when the ticking clock suddenly
seems visible to me

In a few hours I'll be free...
How can I shape the end?
Before I know another day would be spend
without me having been 'me'

Will I look back
and would it all still come to me?

When will these words melt to glee?
Inversed logics and reverse polarity...
So much for insularity.

If ever it is to be, it'll be
today I submit another day to my destiny

Wanting for it to germinate till it becomes my greed,
I hope to keep the fuel burning with my poetry

Away from home, but close to my might,
Learning to fly while hoping to flee...