The calendar dictates my days,
The clock my time.
I snooze between alarms,
And dream through the commute.
Blinded by my false sense of self worth,
The beauty of the newly blossomed gulmohar
On the path I rush through, escapes me.
The mornings are maniacally hurried,
And the evenings pass in a daze.
Of the afternoons I remember nothing;
The nights are long and silent.
I like to believe that within me,
Lie the depths of the ocean.
There are oysters with hidden pearls.
I don’t have the luxury of deep diving,
I console myself, and then I sigh in relief;
This fear of searching within, only to
Stumble upon the silence of the hollow years.
The lack of profound sorrow and
The absence of any exhilarating joy
Am I blessed or just plain cold?
At the shore, my heart aches for the
Electrifying currents that run deep;
And the sinking ship, in the middle of
The blue, envies my sanctuary at the coast!
