Sometimes,
I do stupid things
though not intentionally.
I get up everyday
and take some time to reflect
and regret
the procrastination of the previous day.
I grunt a little.
I make elaborate plans of taking over the world
while brushing my teeth.
I plunge into the day’s work
with gratitude as my accomplice.
I dream a little
whenever I get a chance.
And then, the clock ticks.
Involuntarily.
Evening sun descends
and melts my resilience.
I return home, a little.
I allow myself to be distracted
by the vicious web, spread world wide.
I plunge into the night’s sleep
with guilt as my accomplice.
My plans remain un-groomed
just like the pile of clothes
on the floor of my bedroom.
The clock ticks.
The cycle continues.
But Sometimes,
Some days,
I wake up under the shade
of the lovely, crispy morning sun.
And magic awakens,
with me and within me.
I think of thoughts,
Of Life,
Of my own mundanity.
I gather a few words around
and string them all together
with abrupt line breaks
and broken fragments of prose,
forcing rhymes into some of those
and call myself a Poet.
How stupid!