Weary Afternoon

A room teeming with soulless struggle

To keep up with the pace of life. 

Empty brains burdened by heavy eyelids,

Counting one to five.

You can see the trees

Outside the clear glass pane.

Their leaves, stirred by the summer's breeze

Beckoning the monsoon's rain.

From these cool rooms of modernity,

The sunlight feels soft and tender.

The leaves look greener,

The world shines in a new splendor.

As the dusk approaches earth,

The dullness gradually fades away

With the prospects of earning freedom

At the end of the day.

Still nobody moves a budge,

Fearing a monstrous giant

Observing them from a corner

Its nature so mean and gestures, defiant.

All eyes move back and forth

From the means of bread

To the fatigued hands of God

Their patience tied to a thread.

Slowly the weariness transforms

Into a suppressed zest for life.

As the clock strikes the time,

The delirium runs rife.