Hey, beautiful day, I just wanted to wish—
listen—what your beauty means to me.
My eyes open—6:30, like yesterday;
they know they will not see, even today.
My body bathes, as needed, to face the day;
it knows it will not feel the touch today.
I meditate—it cools the mind every morning;
yet I know, it changes nothing.
Dawn, dusk, or noon—
no flavor.
I know it all,
yet I go on, with a fake smile.
Boring—smile-less, fun-less days;
again, and again—
when do they stop?
I no longer wait for anything to happen;
still, I go to office—
a machine, moving levers.
Years ahead—no cheer,
lived like the dead;
fake, worthless cheerfulness,
worn every day.
Hey, iteration—
the day returns,
and I say,
good morning, once again.
Amit Choudhary (c) 2012