“How was your day?”
.
.
In the mornings
When my mother starts her day in the kitchen
And my father looks for the newspaper
All I want is an excuse.
An excuse to pause the day, even before it has begun.
“Halt!” I say to Mr.Time.
Mr.Time wears a suit and a tie
With glasses as thick as icecubes
Perched on his rigid nose.
He slaps me hard and shouts like a war general
“Yes,Sir!”
I come back to my senses.
The day goes on and on and on
Like a thriller movie in slow motion,
Devoid of background music.
Deja vu
Every moment a facsimile of some other one.
There’s a cadence to monotony
If you have the ear for it.
Sometimes I do, don’t you too?
Before long, I get lost
In other worlds freshly manufactured
Where facts don’t matter,
Mr.Time is banned,
And I am free.
But I’m no God, no Creator Almighty
My thinly framed bubbles of thoughts
Fade away like half-remembered memories
Oh so quickly
Poof! And I’m back again.
Nothing makes sense yet, but at least
I’m back to my senses.
Ringing voices vibrate in my ears
Boys grinning with their mouths wide open
Girls leaning onto each other
Tearing up into giggles.
The dusky sky and the dazzling streetlights
Coexist with different ideals of beauty
I keep my eyes open
For every sight.
We call it a day.
I make my peace with Mr.Time
He smiles at me like a benevolent captor
I smile back.
.
.
“My day was great, how was yours?”
mimimusing 