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.

©® Farheen Bhuiyan Nancy 

Time Frame: 7.56 pm, Mirpur Cantonment.