Office Rhythms

The printer churns, a mechanical heartbeat,

each page sliding out like a secret,

each rustle a break in the office hush,

a lullaby of monotony

that drowns out my thoughts,

every print a drumbeat of solitude,

as I wonder where my own voice has gone.

Ink spills stories on the page,

black lines forming shapes I can’t read,

a mechanical symphony without melody,

yet I’m entranced, lost in the rhythm,

the smell of paper thick in the air,

while outside life spins fast—

a constant reminder of this stillness,

a rhythm of solitude humming just for me.