The art of procastination

Sitting at the same place
Checking the clock, expecting the time for solace
With unending deadlines looming over head
He fantasizes of painting the town red.

Monday to Friday, all looks the same
With the free office internet, he is always game
From close friends to distant relatives, he chats with them all
In the allotted nine hours, he is having a ball

The toilet, canteen, terrace becoming his lair
With innumerable cigarettes up in the air, he even finds time for his hair
As the multiple tabs are piling on,
He realizes that its time to move on.

As the clock shrieks six
His mind is in a fix
The time for solace has arrived
But the assignment has still not been derived

I will do it tomorrow, exults the golden boy
While his mind experiences a gust of ardent joy
He has indeed survived another day,
With the art of procrastination in his bay.