Weekdays on rails...

A new day dawns, and he awakes from his bed,

Only to go asleep once again- u'd think he was dead.

Disheveled hair, untucked shirt, he runs to catch the train,

Trying to make up for lost time spent dreaming of winter rain.

He is late, as expected, and is last in line..

At the queue, under the callous sun - shining a bit too fine.

He pays his 6 rupees, and places the holy grail in his pocket,

And holds on to it for dear life, now he knows how the Templars felt.

For he is on a train, from Pallavaram to Guindy...

with the world and its people - some queer some dandy.

Following the clickety-clack of steel wheels, assisted by a zillion a banter,

He reaches his end of the cubicle, one share auto and 9 floors later.

He logs in, He starts his day, and all seems fine and gay,

With breaks in the morning, breaks at noon, breaks in the evening - well, a million breaks a day...

Till its time to end the play, for it is time to break away- It was a useless day anyway..

He take a bus back, crowded to the brim,

And he realizes that the population needs a trim.

Ten depressing kilometers and 30 rupees after,

He enters the hallowed portals of his house - his greatest disaster.

For while the rooms are neat and tidy, not at all unruly,

There is an unfathomable void, in the life of yours truly.

And he is alone, writing a poem in his computer- his one true love (and his bike of course),

When he should be doing great things, if only he had the resolve,the courage and the force..

htnakirs