Page 30 - Kolaj Sharodiya Review Edition

9-To-5 Sins

Sobhan Pramanik

The dusk upon my office street Close to 8 PM, the offices start to empty.
has no color. this strip of road motorbikes screech out of the cellar and
down the deserted lake, cutting melt away in the dark. all i see is life slipping
through closely-huddled buildings, away between shifts, in the quest of
and a looming cliff has the sun making a living. are they aware? i doubt.
slowly departing behind it, leaving
hollow clouds in its trail. The dusk on my office street
has no color. and i walk away.
And all we have here are shadows. trampling the yellow flowers under my boots.
lengthening every minute to become
the night. the flowering trees, windblown.
their blossoms one with dirt. the clinking
of glassware from the milkshake kiosk.
and employees on smoke breaks: fatigued,
frustrated flanking the pavements like
boats grounded in low tide - waiting for
night to fall, for the water to rise,
and take them away.

I look into their hollowed eyes. wide open,
but barely seeing, let alone realize.
smoking over a call, the mechanized laughter
and practiced pauses drives the client home.
there’s a new task at hand now. time to head
back to the desk. the cigarette stub is tossed
into the gutter, and i almost hear its burning
tip extinguish in sewer.