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Dexter Terzungwe Jan 2016
1: “could you not pick your nose in front of me?”
2: “I'm not picking, I'm scratching.”

And then, utter silence.
The hourly routine of the sitters.
Warm and clear or humid and foggy,
their day always manages to be bare and cold.
With their unpleasant sets of ashy, unwashed heels, broken through the years, the numbers untold.

Watching all that is theirs.
For a benchwarmer is a proprietor of anything that keeps abet, his deepest fears.
The greatest fear, failure, being the most aggressive,
jabs and hammers on his itchy, small, frictionless small back like an overturned adhesive.


For once upon a memory so distant ago that its credibility is askew,
Were men who had dreams and hopes, to awake to the feel of the morn’ dew.
Men who, have long since settled into their nichey existence.
Men who were once the go-to for persistent consistence.
The basking unforgiven...
tread Sep 2013
blocks of fluid motion
unlike ice.

moves and carries the package deal like FedEx 24/7,
ivy grabs the Empress in a flat embrace
waits like a dead red coat for the British to reinforce its garrison.

if happiness were sold as madness
how many of us would be architects?
ConnectHook Feb 2017
In a panic, having lost control of the vehicle at high speed and swerving off the Data Highway, I assessed the impending impact and made quick mental notes for a feasibility study as the stationary tree moved closer rapidly. In a flash, ultimate outcomes passed before my eyes, like the newest edition of a celestial Clearslide/PowerPoint/Prezi presentation tool:

• Data drives performance as winter wind whips the data-driven snow.

• Real-time numbers are to outcomes what God is to Heaven.

• Data supersedes Life as Christ supersedes the angels.

• Vigorous data collection enhances and informs rigorous data selection.

• Data is to outcomes as outcomes are to income.

• Objectives tied to measurable outcomes bring numbers back into the game, turning benchwarmers into real-time benchmarks.

• Data quality ensures accountability, facilitates transparency, reducing redundancy.

• Performance indicators are ultimate vindicators, turning competitors into partners and sustaining creative growth by creating sustainable change.

• Data are plural – but only to the Brits…

These bulleted staff-development phantasms surged into my mind right before the massive, jarring crunch when my vehicle smashed into the Tree of Life that grows just off the Data-Driven Highway. I cannot recall the moment of collision, nor the impact assessment study that preceded it. It seemed many, many Continuing Staff Improvement sessions later when I awoke to the soothing pastel shades and muted color scheme of a projected graphic full of squiggly arrows, cyber-hieroglyphics and professionally-presented slides filled with corporate jargon. I was finally in Data Heaven where the numbers never lie but rise to live forever.  

    **I had achieved my final measurable objective!
Duck the Fata !
╭┫ⓞⓘⓝⓚ┃
┈╰┓▋▋┏╯╯╰━━━━╯
╭━┻╮╲┗━━━━╮╭╮┈
┃▎▎┃╲╲╲╲╲╲┣━╯┈
╰━┳┻▅╯
They said loyalty pays
But I've been investing time in a system that only pays attention to favourites
The office clock ticks like a ticking bomb; not a heartbeat
Because each beat reminds me...
That I’ve been sitting on a desk that was never meant to rise with me

See; I’m the guy they call when pressure breaks bones
When deadlines **** dreams and the best hands are too burnt to build
But they never call me when there’s applause
Never cc me in the glory mails  only the blame ones
I’m the one who cleans the mess the favoured made
But still they call me second best
Like talent came with caste and titles were born; not earned

I’ve written proposals that raised eyebrows in boardrooms
Only to watch my ideas wear another man’s nametag
I’ve brainstormed so hard my mind got soaked
Yet they called it drizzle when my skies were breaking
And the man who always gets the mic
Well... his voice ain’t louder; just better connected

I prayed; oh I prayed
That the system would glitch
That maybe the gold-plated prodigy would slip
That for once; skill would be picked over pedigree
But no
He never slips; or maybe he does
And the fall is framed as flight because he’s their favourite kite
They blame the wind; not the wings

But oga; oh...  I mean boss
Yesterday; another recruiter said
"A talent like yours should be building empires; not watching over one"
He said...
“You’re not stuck  you’re stitched into a system that fears your shine”
And for the first time; my silence felt like a betrayal
To myself

So here's my resignation  not just from the job;
But from this theatre of pretend promotions plus plastic praises
Do well to keep your blessings to yourself
This flower needs sun; not a corner of the shelf
No hard feelings; but I can’t water down my worth anymore
Somewhere out there
A room is waiting
Where the seat fits the spine of my purpose
And the applause won’t need subtitles

See, my new oga didn’t ask for my résumé first
They asked for my story
Said; “What have you built in the shadows
That deserves to touch morning?”
And for once… I didn't shrink
I spoke of nights where I typed dreams into silence
Of times I offered gold; and they printed it in another's ink
And instead of doubt; I saw nods
Not the kind that pities
But the kind that says...
“We’ve been waiting for someone like you”

Here  the room breathes different
The air doesn’t smell of fear or favourites
Here  progress wears no politics
And the meeting table ain’t just a stage for sycophants with good suits
Here  when I speak; I don’t echo
I resound

They said...
“We don’t need benchwarmers; we need playmakers
We don’t clap for status; we clap for substance”
And my fingers; once blistered from holding back brilliance...
Now type freely
No masks; no mirrors Just meaning

And it’s strange  how quickly I grew
Like potential isn’t dead
Just exiled in environments where ego reigns
Now I lead projects I once cleaned scraps from
Now my name is spelled right in success stories
Not hidden in footnotes behind plastic smiles

Sometimes; I sit at my desk and remember...
That old place
Where I was a ghost in glass offices
And I almost cry; not from pain
But from the audacity of hope that brought me here

Because sometimes; favour ain't a thing you beg for
It’s a room waiting on the other side of ‘enough is enough’
It’s the fruit that grows once you stop watering dead roots
It’s the light that lands not because you chased it
But because you finally stopped hiding your sun

This one’s for the ones who stay too long
Who shrink to fit desks that were never carved for their shoulders
Who laugh in meetings
but cry in restrooms
pocketing pride like loose coins they never get to spend
For those whose brilliance is buried
under piles of silence and “Yes sirs”
and “It’s not your turn yet”

This is for you
You; who were told to wait
wait behind politics
wait behind praise that was never yours
wait behind people who knew less but knew someone
You; who knew the codes...
but not the code words
Who did the work...
but weren’t in the pictures
Who trained your replacements
while holding back the resignation in your bones

You stayed
For stability
For hope
For the idea that maybe...
just maybe...
they’d see your worth
But truth is...
some rooms are blind
And no matter how brightly you burn
they’ll never stop adjusting the curtains

But hear this:
Your light is not wasted  it’s just misplaced
You weren’t born to flicker under fluorescent ceilings
You’re not a spare part in someone else's machine
You are blueprint
Backbone
Builder

And if they won't seat you at their table
then build your own
Even if it starts with a chair and conviction

Because here’s the secret...
Better doesn’t always come dressed in promises
Sometimes; it comes in quiet exits
In courageous leaps
In nights when you whisper to yourself
“I deserve more than this”
And mean it

So go where you're celebrated  not just tolerated
Where you’re not just part of the payroll...
but part of the purpose
Where your voice rings; not ricochets
Where “thank you” isn’t currency... it’s culture

And when you get there
don’t just sit
Shine
So the next tired soul watching you from afar
knows it’s possible to leave
and still bloom

— The End —