On quarantine “productivity”
The days pass by,
Large parts dreaming with staccato bursts of doing;
Each day chasing yet another deadline,
Or now that I have the time,
Another hopeless fancy.
Evenings sans those con calls,
Cesspools of worry about the summer,
Guilt over the procrastination,
Daydreaming about yet another fancy.
I spend days stretched out on my mat,
Neither flow nor order;
Mind unfocussed, breath out of sync.
Touching a toe over my head in one,
Pulling a tight, unused hamstring in another,
Just imitations of productivity, you see.
I sit cross-legged on my mat
(Yes, I’ve relinquished my study table for it)
Bollywood songs on loop,
Fingers tapping away on a project proposal,
A snippet of code,
Leisurely or maybe hurriedly,
Under the weight of yet another deadline.
I’ve been my usual meticulous when planning,
The following, not so much;
Plans fazing me with their sheer ambition,
Naïve optimism that I’d follow through
Laughs at me
From a not-so-distant past.
An extended break,
With its sudden glut of time
And an overbearing sense of containment,
Confinement with the fear of contagion,
Has caught me between productivity and procrastination,
Craving order yet succumbing to spontaneity,
Trying to make sense of it all,
Yet, finally, letting it all be.