I walk in with my briefcase,
It’s past ten o’clock
smothering myself with about a hundred mugs of coffee,
I snigger at my sloppy self to stay up

I don in my best suit,
mismanaging my little briefcase
I pull over a knot atop my head
A hair bun, as it suggests and shabby as it looks,

My fingers tremble,
drumming them over my briefcase,
I tune inβ€”
a sound of nervousness,
I pass on a haste smile,
Maybe just to look a little less coy

My eyes dilate to every minute the hand moves,
I move along with trepidation,
taming every bone in my body

The clock strikes eleven,
I hear my name being called up
“Next, you’re up”

These are the little things,
Little things like this,
In that hour, I grow up.

-Shweta Kher


  1. Mayur · June 29, 2016

    Very long hour that, nervous & silent hour. Nice wrote.


  2. Shweta Kher · June 29, 2016

    Thank you. 😊


  3. damngiver · July 1, 2016

    beautiful thoughts

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Dior · July 16, 2016

    Absolutely love this β™₯

    Liked by 1 person

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