Slogging away at
workdesk, the pretty
logged files doesnt
seem to have an end,
does it inspire self
to fasten the pace?
Atleast a bit more,
as the theatricial
appraisal are on the cards.

Again an unwavering,
reptitive “May”,
irony’s limit?

Mind seemed eroded,the
ticking time termites
eating away thought papers,
left-out flying lightweights
of strange bits and pieces
didn’t stick on a thing,
Circling again and again
over the felt nothing.

Felt but a centric point
sitting as a pricking radius,
hovering repeats over
this point to find, its
afterall not a point..

But an asterisk, a star!

Yes, a mark of doubtedness,
a short note of dire omission,
Indeed, I felt like a star
a left-out one, to wonder where
I actually or ever belonged


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