My Routine Weekly Meanderings

Standard

The relentless shriek of 
an impaitent alarm 
sounds to dozing consciousness
like a poignant wail from
beyond the horizons of oblivion,
the sun grumbles at my laziness
in heated syllables
thar filter through flimsy drapes
and the madness of forced monotony
beckons while last crumbs
of savored Sunday 
escape in a groaned expletive…
its Monday again.

familiar faces, distorted grins,
the stench of stale garbage fills nostrils
dreaming of night jasmines,
as I seive genuine illness
sifting through
faked ailments and complaints 
baked by idle thoughts 
miamed in a confined crowd
of bruised temperments,
just another Tuesday of existing 
through unlived days.

On Wednesday,
tea brews with my impaitence,
darkening like thoughts 
eager to escape 
from a corked soda bottle,
perfection falters before the racing hands
of frowning wall clock,
pressure cooker whistles its urgency
as guilt at stolen minutes
beneath the duvet flush cheeks with guilt,
words of prayer trip over themselves
in haste after a brief bath,
comb and socks find place inside
the ever bulging purse while
yet again the mobile phone is lost
within sheets left tangled on
a bed still unmade-
and silent annoyance is louder
than the screech of tyres
on the blistered asphalt trail.

After burping last night
on chicken legs Thursady is about abstinence,
and the mind daydreams with
the weekend just round the corner,
mellowing the moods 
of long suffering grey cells
yellow is the color today
and perfume is sprinkled 
in generous sprays with soaps 
left dry on their shelves-
whatever happened to cleanliness
being next to piety?

Friday dawns hungry with the sun
seemingly a golden bun
steeming in the oven,
fasting on fruits with the promise of
answered desires I find 
my usually anorexic appetite
return with venegeance
as aroma of food tortures my nostrils
long past dinner time,
amid the usual craziness of
syringes, bandages and remedies.

Saturday is a reiteration
of Tuesday’s paranoia and claustrophobia,
but caramelized in sweet anticipation
of languid moments before 
late night sitcoms and delicious bites
prior to a long night 
without the dread of the alarm’s wail.

But Sunday dawns with
my spouse paradoxically eager 
to start the day early,
demanding tea and breakfast while
the drone of whirling washing machine
erases my drowsiness,
setting fire to all hopes of 
a late Sunday brunch past noontime,
yet moments of friendly banter
are stolen to rejuvenate 
spirits dropping with loneliness
further down the week’s marathon…

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