Chains in the Cubicle
In halls of glass and paper walls,
Where whispers shrink and silence crawls,
The voice of thought is trimmed, confined,
A paycheck leashes heart and mind.
Superiors preach of "discipline,"
But bind the spark that burns within,
Ideas die before they’re born,
Like roses crushed beneath the thorn.
Yet under hush, a pulse remains,
No chain can still the rebel veins.
The mind subdued may bow, comply,
But spirit waits to question—why?
For workplaces that mute the song,
Grow weaker where they should be strong;
A team’s true strength is never fear,
But voices free, both loud and clear.Jyoti Verma
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Author:
Jyoti Verma (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 29th, 2025 10:13
- Comment from author about the poem: A poem on today's work life and state of minds
- Category: Fantasy
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Soman Ragavan
Offline)
Comments1
This poem has a good sense of rhythm and meter with its rhyme making it flow well. Nicely done
Gratitude!
Most welcome
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