.
Written in a Cubicle
What spurs me, in this breathing grave
of coffee mouths and cheeks unshaved,
to stand upon my chair and shout,
__“I’m out! I’m out
of this forever-widening coop
where glumness, going on a loop,
entraps, within its strangling mesh,
__the mind and flesh?”
I should be sitting by my table
immersed in some sweet ancient fable
or search, within some lyric verse,
__joy’s universe.
But here I am—jailed in a row
of coffee mouths and heads that bow
to despots (dressed in cotton coats)
__who grab our throats.
.
.
To the Sun
Spare us! Spare us! It’s only May.
Spring sat with me just yesterday
And leafy, cheerful regiments
Imbued my lawn with hues and scents.
Why lance us with your heat so soon?
Save half your fiery wrath for June,
July, and August. Why the rush?
Your chance to rule will not be crushed.
Go, learn from Winter how to wait:
He, full-composed, stands at the gate
And doesn’t step inside until
The other seasons have their fill.
.
.
Karma
Your elders teach you all about it—
This law the universe designed.
No cogent argument to doubt it.
The concept well entrenched in mind.
You strive to be a noble lad.
Your motto: grace, forgiveness, love.
But when the days turn cold and sad,
No payoff’s showered from above.
And then you see the next door fellow
Not give two hoots about this law.
In selfish acts his hours wallow,
Yet full condoned by Karma’s claw.
Inspired, you want to walk his path.
The old belief’s shrugged off and dead.
Just one base action, soon her wrath
Ignites, and she pecks at your head.
.
.
.
Shamik Banerjee is a poet from Assam, India, where he resides with his parents. His poems have been published by Sparks of Calliope, The Hypertexts, Snakeskin, Ink Sweat & Tears, Autumn Sky Daily, Ekstasis, among others. He received second place in the Southern Shakespeare Company Sonnet Contest, 2024.
Shamik, these are three outstanding poems that seem to be remonstrances at despots, the sun, and karma. “The Cubicle” in particular had a dark message of what happens under tyranny, while the “inmates” mull over that they could be at their own table enjoying life, but for some reason ae confined. I had to laugh at “To the Sun,” since this Tuesday in Texas, it is predicted to reach an unusual 103 degrees in mid-May. Then, oh, how Karma always seems to affect us more than the other fellow! Well-constructed clever reads.
“Written in a Cubicle” is a very apt comment on the way in which mid-level employees tend to be treated these days. The “cubicle” (barely five feet square, with a desk, a chair, and a computer screen) is now the normal workspace for millions. The constant stench of sweat and coffee fills the air, along with the orders of bosses and the chatter of colleagues.
“To the Sun” reminds me of the fact that India in the summer months is unbelievably hot. There is an excellent poem by Kipling on this subject, where a pompous Englishman accept a bet that he cannot stay in India during the hot season. The man foolishly agrees to the wager, and is so hammered by the heat, the insects, and the discomfort that he is forced to depart. It has put me in mind of the old song lyric: “Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.”
As for “Karma,” it seems to be a world-wide complaint of all people: you can be as good as gold, and still get screwed; and you can be as bad as hell, and still grow rich.
Three wise, well-written gems. Your “cheeks unshaved” makes me wonder for the hundredth time, how can men (mostly young) think that particular trend is attractive?
Shamik,
What I like about all three of these poems is the way that they engage all the senses with striking images that evoke the emotion you are trying to convey in each poem. In “Written in a Cubicle,” you evoke the feeling of despair an office worker can feel trapped in an unrewarding job with imagery taken right out of the graveyard: e.g., you describe you workplace as a “breathing grave” filled with zombie-like figures with their heads bowed down, their flesh unattended (unshaven cheeks) and their breath wreaking of coffee, like the stale stench emitted from the mouths of corpses. The spirit of glumness looping in circles around the graveyard reminds me of a vulture flying over a common gave where bodies like exposed to the elements, and the “strangling mesh” from which you struggle to break free calls to mind the graveclothes wound around lifeless bodies from which a living human being would understandably seek liberation; in this context, your standing up on the chair with shouts of freedom is like a pictue of resurrection. I like very much the way you personified the seasons in “To the Sun;” here you engage the senses with images that impute personal characteristics to each season, bringing out the distinctive character of each– spring´s amiable willingness to sit with you surrounded by his cheerful regiments of sweet smelling leaves, and the gentlemanly demeanor of cold winter willing to wait for the proper hour of his appearance, makes the aggressive, ambitious, warrior-like character of summer, with his piercing lance of heat, all the more fearsome. The imagery in “Karma” effectively conveys mingled feelings of frustration and fear– on the one hand, frustration at the seemingly useless character of virtue, mixed with a sense of fear and dread before the terrifying personification of karma as a birdlike figure ready to attack with its talons and peck the head of the careless transgressor who fails to take seriously its implacable presence. The dramatic images and careful word choices are what give to these poems an emotional punch.
I’ve had a cubicle office in the past, but can’t imagine it eight hours a day.
‘To the Sun’ has so much more meaning to it here on the edge of the Sahara.
I love karma giving a reminder to those who stray and keeping them in check.
Thanks for the reads, Shamik.
Shamik, you’ve submitted some excellent poetry this year.
I enjoyed your poem, “Written in a Cubicle.” I can relate to the struggle of working in a monotonous office environment. I’m also intrigued by the chosen form; I will have to try it sometime.
“To The Sun” is a fine one as well, and I like the couplet form used. I appreciate the hot weather even when it arrives earlier than usual. Winter and I do not get along.
Your well-crafted poem, “Karma,” reminds me of one I recently wrote that also explores the theme of selfishness.
Reading this trio of poems has been enjoyable, Shamik. Thank you for sharing!
“Written in a Cubicle” perfectly captures the crushing of the human spirit in soulless corporate prisons. I especially like the “coffee mouths” reference, capturing the dryness and stench of bad coffee (a perversion of an art form) only used to provide energy. This vivid picture belongs in an anthology of contemporary poetry.
“To the Sun” brought to life the climate of another part of the world. While here the May sun is mild and pleasant, you give us a harsher portrayal of India’s May sun.
“Karma” is a universal lament, aptly put.
Shamik, I was able to sympathize about the May sun during the past few days. But here in “Mediterranean” California we have a saying, “Don’t like the weather? Wait a day and it’ll change.”
Your “Cubicle” poem is remarkable for the contrast of the imaginatively sweet third stanza with the rest. You have us all wanting to say, “I’m out!”
These are all wonderful poems, Shamik!
Dear Mr Peterson, Mr Salemi, JD, Mr Rizley, Cheryl, Angel, Adam, Margaret, and Cynthia, I am overwhelmed reading all these beautiful comments on these three simple poems of mine. Such words of love and appreciation are greater than any reward. My apologies for the delayed response. Work pressure and this torrid summer are leaving me with no strength. Reading your words brought me ample respite. My heart goes out to you all. Take care and God bless!