One Morning

Baikuntha R. Acharya

One morning,
Seeing the sunbeams on my bed
I murmured –“Oh, it’s too late!”
But, again consoled myself
What makes the difference?
I get up early or late
Or, forever, slept!

Every morning, I get up
Every night, I sleep
Every day I fight the unknown battle
Every day, for me, is an unsolved riddle

I introspect
Every day I have to follow the routine
As if I were a programed machine
As if somebody is sitting on the saddle
I am driven everyday like a camel

Life, Oh life!
A journey, as they say
From womb to tomb
The existence; the battleground
The high up and the depression
The swing of possession and liberation