Bored. Since I can’t shout.

I am bored. Like, for the last week or so. It’s a weird sort of boredom, because it hasn't happened for a reason. But I've been still trying to figure out the reason. And now, I'm bored of that, too.

I’ve learnt not to be dependent on people for my entertainment. For anything, in fact. My learnings weren’t of any use, I realised today.

A few colleagues of mine are shifted to a new office. They’re gone. Effectively, from a minute-to-minute conversation that I used to have with them, it has come down to pretty much nothing. To make matters worse, I don’t really connect well to the ones who are left behind. So much for my belief that I could connect to anyone in this world. So. The week gone by has been a boring one. Didn’t give me much to look forward to. Although, it gave me this – A reason to write / scribble / pen a poem down.

Voila!

Scribble.

Scribble.

Dribble the bubble.

Trouble the whistle.

“Fweeeeeennn!”

Let it blow out.

Throw out.

All that you can.

All your let-downs.

All your angst.

Use it.

Since you can’t shout.

Write.

Write.

Sit tight.

Write about your fright.

Being bored almost all day & night.

Pen down your boredom.

Go out. Write it out.

About the dullness.

About the monotony.

Use your pen.

Since you can’t shout.