A day in the life of a writer

 

I wake up to a day that lies before me,  starting with the moon and the sun,

One in the descendant and the other in the ascendant while I, the traveller look at one

Page in my life, starting with the dawn of a new day. The sun glows with the warmth of

A promise of a day filled with hope and events guaranteed to fill my life with the promise,

A day with events meant to fill me with the joys of one more day filled with the gifts.

 

And then as I travel to work I see the flocks of birds that sail the skies, in the glow

Of the warm glowing sun in the early winter morn, off to their nesting hollow,

While the day does roll by, I approach my place of work and wonder what the

Day would hold for me! So I proceed to my room in the stillness of the morn,

The shadows yet lengthened while the corridors echo with my footfalls!

 

The day moves on and I the silent spectator but an actor in the play of life,

The wide smile of the student handing over his assignment gives me a life

Filled with promises of a day filled with promises of things yet to be, of more to

Come, and while I sit at the workshop, she, sitting with me  on the bench, does

Show off her delicate feet, her bright painted toes, blinking in the day!

 

So I thought of writing of the day gone by, a day filled with the promises or more

Yet to come, for if the morrow does dawn, will I surely glimpse for sure,

At the bouquets of flowers that please me so. For sure, the gifts of one day

Might surely spill to the next, and the scents of the flowers do linger on while the

Woman by my bench does show off her delicate feet and freshly painted toes.

 

The next day will surely bring forth a day coloured by the rising sun so big,

That if I were to reach it would fill my arms to the brim, and I sit at my big

Table thinking of the day yet to come, while the pigeons above flutter and call

Out to each other interrupting my stream of thoughts…Ah! I gaze at the

Scene out of my window at men and women labouring to construct a building.

 

The door opens and I am woken from my reverie of a myriad dreams, a shadow

Leaning forward to me, reaching perhaps into my mind to learn of how

I could be so silent in the midst of all that din! But then not to seem rude, I smile

At her, the fragrance of her perfume lingers on in the room, but then I slip

Into yet another process of thoughts, of what I’d do after I retire.

 

The glow from the burning logs in the fire-place bathe the living room

With warmth, both seen and felt, while I sit pensive, fingers hovering from

There flight on the key-board, a glass of warmth set on the side board, while

She sits gladly knitting a sweater for a grand son. Were life to be so carefree

With no deadlines to meet nor worries about unfinished work!

 

As the brief period of rest ends, I am surprised that hardly have a few minutes

Passed in all that while had I slipped into another world, but do I realize bits

Of my dream as I gaze back at the present. Of the task in hand that need

Be done, and with a light step do I visit a class of eager children, but with one

Who has not submitted his task, and as I turn to him, smiling he hands to me!

 

And I gaze at the children with an admiration most profound they should be

Powerhouses of energy. Where do they get their stories, cheer and joy, to be

So excited and noisy? But then do I slip back into my past at a little boy who would

Be as noisy and active as these little children, for children will be children and so

Let them be, and not let the adult in us curb what what was once a child indeed!

 

As gangs we fought, throwing mud balls at enemies, catapults firing pellets

At imaginary aliens from outer space, we climbed the trees my bro and friends,

From imaginary aliens that ranged the ground, snapping jaws at quickly snatched

Ankles! And the Neem tree did sway from our exertions, while the sparrows

Squeaked in alarm lest the careless boys topple the nest with eggs in them!

 

And I wonder if the the boy leading the gang to free the earth of intruders and

The old man by the fire-place be not one and the same, both children and

Adults at the same time? While I the exasperated teacher do try  to bring some

Order to the class with a grim expression, but then the children do see the child

In me and they smile at me with kindred smiles, one child to another child!

 

The bell rings, ending the session with those incorrigible brats

Yet, loved I being with them for they did remind me  of other brats

That lived in another world a world long past in time and space, while

I the fussy one try to herd the restless sheep into a single file that they

Won’t keep for a few moments! Was I like them, these restless kids?

 

Then comes the time to turn back  home the promise of more surprise,

Awaiting  little kids toss and tumble eager to grab my replies

About adventures they’ had at school. And so the day passes on to one

That promises rest and peace, the result of a day filled with events so many.

And as the night does approach, do I thank the child that lives in me!

 

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