The Cube

A tiny little space that is mine,
a part of the universe which is all for me,
my little niche in the corporate jungle,
my exclusive world for the eight hours and beyond
cordoned off from the rest by the diplomatic walls,
invaded occassionaly by the peep of a chum
or the stare of the boss...

These pictures on my wall...
those of the love and kin,
the faces I see more here than at home,
try in vain to remind me, of my social being.
This stress-buster smiley...
I wish I too could smile so merry
and this poor thing were my devilish boss.
This humming computer and scattered papers...
these things have silently conquered my life!

My laughter... my gloom
the spring... the winter;
My anger... my calm
the storm... the breeze;
My victories... my defeats
the rise and the fall
this place has seen it all...

This is not eternal.
One day, I have to move out
just like the one afore
and give way for the one to come.
Men may change and so the things;
but this space remains always what it is.

This is my refuge from wordly trouble;
this is my very own little bubble;
until that ultimate debacle,
this is mine; my very own cubicle.