Chasing a deadline is like trying to catch a bee with chopsticks.

At first it gives you courteous space,

It hovers just beyond the edge of the benign,

A pressure you can name only as a claim,

Deferred, for now, by judgement and by choice.

You trust your hours will treat you well and kind,

Assume that steady practice meets its aim,

That time defers to reason, not to voice,

The future legible from this present place,

You think control is something you can tame,

That order drowns the hum to mere noise,

No sign suggests you’ve misjudged speed or pace,

The problem seems amenable, almost fine.

It shifts, correcting how you’re moving,

Your careful plan falls quick into a net,

What felt like foresight turns to frantic guessing,

Each small correction widening the debt,

You track the gap between what’s done and pending,

Precision drains; you cannot call it set,

The work demands perpetual adjusting,

You promise later fixes, stacked as regret,

Time glances down and answers simply no,

It will not wait. It tells you: go.

Bee-close pressure stealing all your joy,

Every reach returned with bright decoy,

Thinking stumbles, turning into delay,

Hands commit before you have your say,

Each near catch answered with another ploy,

Every path re-cut to make your will a toy,

Reason thins along a narrowing way,

Sound outruns you, ordering you: stay.

Faster now, the distance hardens into tar,

Judgement lags behind declared intent,

You move first, then you notice the thin mar,

You act first, then invent the argument,

The chase becomes a hexagon of bars,

You function inside the narrowing present.

FASTER, faster: answer harder

KEEP UP, keep up: move faster

DON’T THINK, don’t think: louder

DON’T STOP, don’t stop: further

Too close.

Too quick.

No room

to think.

Sticks slip.

Hands shake.

It darts.

You lunge.

Miss.

Reset.

Again.

Now.

The

bee

is

still

ahead

No!

I

T

S

T

I

M

E

M

U

S

T

E

N

D

!

!

!

_

_

_

Hush.

It is quiet.

Your mind is quiet.

The hex lifts.

The room returns, slower, after,

Your hands stay where they were, under,

Everything ordinary looks nearer,

Thought comes back, smaller, quieter.

You hit submit; the chase is done: you’re free,

The deadline sits fulfilled; at last,

For one brief breath, the world will let you be,

Then time keeps marching onwards, moving past,

“Well done,” it says, and means it, however,

Somewhere in the dark, there waits another

Image: Nicole Lau