SEVEN DAYS A WEEK

A Reflective Verse On Repetitive Rhythm of Life.

Again,
The same day with the same
familiar smell
I have breathed for long!


When one day ends, another
hurries.
Days are always in quick
succession.
None waits even a second.
They are vying one another
To occupy my space.
As if one holds a promise
That others can't offer.
All want to affect something
That memory could carry forever.


I don't remember
If any day different from the other.
Or had set a benchmark?
All seem to have the same
Shape and Shade, Texture and
Trick.
Pushing and shoving one
another
In hope of getting a better
treatment.
Alas! That they never receive.


At last-
Tried, Tired, Tensed and Terrified
Terminated.


Again
The sundown and the hopeless
Night.
Is there any space or scope left
for
A SUNRISE?