Monday Blues

It's seven in the morning,

Time to get in on the action,

With brushing and dressing,

But mind is still in inert-ion.

My eyes are half open,

With strong need for sleep,

As I try to awaken,

My heart is weeping for more sleep.

I sip hot tea slowly,

Counting the days to weekend,

There are five more days totally ,

Weeping my soul exclaims, "There's no end".

It's one of those Monday blues,

Where everything is black and white,

And there is nothing new,

To look forward in delight.

Come soon, dear weekend,

My heart cries,

I have no intend,

To say goodbye.

This time will pass

The sun sinks slowly into it's den;

The once blue sky is turning red;

The rays were bright back then;

And moon will rise instead.

With cool winds brushing my hair;

It's time to relax and unwind;

And play a game of solitaire;

Or meditate with fixed mind.

But distraction of unsure future;

And mistakes of gloomy past;

Will I be able to move ahead sooner;

As minutes of this lifetime last ?

My feet tingles on touch of the wet grass;

And I know this time will pass;