Whatever shall we see?

A shudder, sigh;
My Kingdom for a breeze;
Anything that might defy,
This stillness and unease;
A wish for wings,
Tonight it might be,
The end of dreaming,
And the beginning of peace.

Sreedevi.

No shred of dignity in the world of IT

All things are a flowing,
Sage Heracleitus says;
But a tawdry cheapness
Shall reign throughout our days.

-- Ezra Pound “Hugh Selwyn Mauberly”

In my limited experience working within the IT Industry, it has come to my notice that there are mostly people who find quite a bit of benefit, just by making a scene.

By “making a scene,” I don’t mean the messy liaisons of an emotional nature - Hades knows we have far too many of them – but that wherein a circumstance is subjected to mountain making. As with many people in the IT industry, I would feel more comfortable, if we stripped them of any technical titles, and instead re-christened them as Bards of Dogtown.

In days of old, Bards had but one function; travel around the land, involve in a goodly amount of scriptwriting (and mangling), and tell their stories with a presence, all for the sake of a few coins, food and shelter, till they moved on to the next village. These modern day Bards have but little difference, except they tell stories to make profits, garner benefits of travel and cash, or simply save their veritable backsides.

I have seen several such Bards, and they do little but spend their time making it look as if the world would end if the company-sponsored perks were not unduly credited to them. With a flair for the dramatics, they announce their resignation, and reluctantly (not to mention, nobly) accept the considerable pay raise, and promotion. It stands to be seen if they really would leave if someone called their bluff.

There is no such thing as idealism, and professional courtesy is a thing of the past. Sadly, I see my eyes being opened to face the real world; people would employ cut-throat techniques, and use the corpses of the meek as their steps, rising in the corporation with little to no shame. Clichéd as it seems, rat-race is apropos, for the current corporate world.

Do people feel no remorse in compromising their integrity, to get a free ticket? Is there no shame in taking ruthless advantage of benefits offered? It would be clearly a class of the least level to salivate over small time gains, but as I see it, people care less about being professional, or classy, and more about those extra pennies they can squeeze out of an organisation. It is truly a blow to we, who proudly claim to be white collared.

My next line of thought is, “why is no one stepping up and asking these questions?” To which, I fear the answer will be, “because no one cares enough.” Shocking, yes, but what can a lowly last rung employee do? Give up a job because of righteous indignation? Not likely!

I cannot help but feel pity for those who work diligently, doing right by themselves, when it comes to moving up in the organisation. I feel disdain for those who think less of appearing like a money-grubbing leech, than they do over filing reimbursements over ten dollars. I also feel sorry for the state of affairs. As I implied before, Professionalism is truly dead, and honour was knocked over in a joust with money.

Pathetic, Indeed.

He walks in Darkness

He walks in darkness.

Beneath his feet, not a sound,

No rustle as his cloak

sweeps the icy ground.

He walks in darkness

It is no shield to him

For none but the moon

Dare lay eyes on this form

Gliding through the forest

In the dead of the night

No different than mere mortals

In the harmless light

For it is with the setting of the sun

That life leaves his veins

And he hungers to feed

In attempt to be whole again.

It is a half life, this being

Has not a shred of repent

When hunger is sated, deed is done

He knows he will never be rid

Of stains that mar his own

Of red that flows, to burgundy deep

Promises to revive him, it does keep.

Too long has he been dead this way

For life is meaningless to him

Yet in the time between the fading sun

And the rise of the chariots each day

A fire burns within his body

Longing to decay, in vain.

For he walks in darkness

And what little shall it show

He watches and waits, in shadows

Sreedevi

The Last Breath

The dust has settled; silence resounds,
I'm unsure if I'm flying or aground;
Unaware of anything but the cold,
Wrapping itself around, like a lover of old.
Who am I? Where am I? This I cannot recall,
There's nothing to think of this moment, at all.
I hope, against everything, there's comfort ahead,
These rocks at my back, make not warm a bed.
Something flows out of these things I call eyes,
Tears or blood? reminiscent of lies;
Promises I made when I said I would return,
To the smile of a child, it makes my chest burn.
I see them before me, reach out my fingers,
Nothing happens, no movement lingers.
Blackness is calling, why did I come here?
Ill fated decisions, there's unguarded fear;
Hope has left me, there's nothing to try,
I welcome the stillness, and the grey afterlife.

Sreedevi