Weeks

Seven days in a week!!!

In which-

Four days a week is depressive,

Two days remains okkie dokkie,

One day is spent happy and hopeful for no reason, and the other day is monotonous, and it continues,

It continues in a loop,

In a circulation,

Repetitive,

Usual,

Banal and boring,

Seven days a week continues to bore me,

Like a loop- the neverending melancholic days never blooms,

Days doesn’t smell like brewed coffee, flowers, cinema, songs and books,

Instead I count my days in hues- black and white, Grey in between sometimes,

I am drowned in a drowsy land,

Continuously collapsing- I don't find a reason to live or stay,

I don't feel the urge to do what I do,

And, definitely, there are times when I don't enjoy what I do,

Days are circulating like a busy street,

Pages of calenders moving ahead,

But, Days are going on a move,

In a loop of agony,

Seven days a week is spent in monotony and boredom, gloomy and weary- old routines scuffing off,

I wrapped schedules like a scarf around my neck- and its chocking now,

I can't breath,

I can't smell home cooked meals, spices and tea,

I can't breath,

I am suffocated in the workstation,

Some days I struggle to get up from bed: my invisible battle,

I can't feel me,

So, I stopped looking for her.

You see me winning in life,

I see myself collapsing,

Seven days a week- without any variations,

Unblinkingly the same- boring and monochromatic with a few satanic rituals.

Time Frame: 7.56 pm, Mirpur Cantonment.

Writer's own thoughts!