Life seems to be wrapped in timelessness
As one day flows into another day
Besides the changing shadows the sun casts
Everything else is just draped in greys.
I go through the motions
Like a well oiled robot
Moving skilfully across the patterns
the light beams cast across the floor.
And though outwardly it all seems fine,
unlike a robot,
there is this beating heart of mine
That's slowly but surely sinking into despair,
Desperately searching for adventure in the shadows.
Yes, I know I have responsibilities
They are programmed in my DNA.
How can I ever forget!
So, it’s not an epic hero's journey I seek
Just little nibbles to cope with the tedium that's set
A bit of Adventure not more than
the specs of mozzarella tossed on pizza on that cheat day.
Or like thin anklets hugging feet that have forgotten to dance.
Or for as much of time that the air is filled with the burst of the cuckoo's notes
before it is silenced by the cacophony of the crows.
Or just as much as the tiny sliver of the moon in the summer skies
before it is swallowed by yet another amaavas night.
Surely an adventure that little will not disrupt
this tedious, unending routine to which I must conform
But who's say how little little really is
For after all, a butterfly fluttering its wings somewhere,
Is known to cause a storm.
As one day flows into another day
Besides the changing shadows the sun casts
Everything else is just draped in greys.
I go through the motions
Like a well oiled robot
Moving skilfully across the patterns
the light beams cast across the floor.
And though outwardly it all seems fine,
unlike a robot,
there is this beating heart of mine
That's slowly but surely sinking into despair,
Desperately searching for adventure in the shadows.
Yes, I know I have responsibilities
They are programmed in my DNA.
How can I ever forget!
So, it’s not an epic hero's journey I seek
Just little nibbles to cope with the tedium that's set
A bit of Adventure not more than
the specs of mozzarella tossed on pizza on that cheat day.
Or like thin anklets hugging feet that have forgotten to dance.
Or for as much of time that the air is filled with the burst of the cuckoo's notes
before it is silenced by the cacophony of the crows.
Or just as much as the tiny sliver of the moon in the summer skies
before it is swallowed by yet another amaavas night.
Surely an adventure that little will not disrupt
this tedious, unending routine to which I must conform
But who's say how little little really is
For after all, a butterfly fluttering its wings somewhere,
Is known to cause a storm.
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