Things I No Longer Do / For You

‍

We invented Work From Anywhere
before SARS 1.0 ever evolved, like hell
outta bats, before remote work was even
remotely a phenom. Racing in rickety van
from Gurgaon to the Pink City, swanning
about some rained-out houseboat in Kerala,
soggy to our gills and parkas; while emails
piled up the other side of a raucous dial-up,
awaiting our pleasure. Dashing to Chennai,
crazy late for the only flight out, pulling
Frequent Flyer rank to offload some hapless
standby passenger, reinstalled on Economy
thrones, a red-eye too red to sleep on;
touching down seven for my presentation nine.

Scorching our youth to cheat time, we’d burn
both ends of every candle we could find,
from frenetic souvenir shops to dankest apothecaries;
honouring our vows to us. While we each flirted
openly with our work, courted it, teased it with
our bodies, offered up flesh for shiny baubles,
for professional advancement, consummating
our corporate pacts; while each trusted the other
would remain faithful, wouldn’t in the end
drift, capitulate, wouldn’t be seduced by
the capitalist ascension. That it would all hold,
could hold, that we’d remain chaste and pure
while we bathed in golden rain, suckled on
power-ups, lusted after luscious loot drops
until we were utterly spent.

In the final judgement, the scales weigh me naked,
bereft, balanced against the nothing I’ve given you
in return but I’ve taken and consumed and denuded
and ravaged in the name of career. Life goals.
At my reckoning that is my hunger and hurt
and remorse and surrender, I dare presume
I still have you. And when I peel off this life-stained skin,
I believe you
can still see within the wells of these eyes
an ocean of feelings,
tethered by a timeless line,
I’ve kept bottled for you.

‍