SOME DAYS ARE EXPERIENCES

Some days I sleep
Like I would never want to wake
Some days I stare
While fingers through the hair I rake
Some days I lie
Putting everything at stake
Some days I read
Myself, in ways of a book
Some days I watch
Movies, and dreams I bake
Some days I plot
How many of them I’d push in the lake
Some days I paint
A lamp, a tree, a map, a snake
Some days I write
In journal, stories that I make

For,

Not everyday I dance
Without caring for the words
That would travel
From whispering lips to eager ears

Not everyday I wear
A saree, pink and yellow
Been told to walk the ramp
With non-existent gracility and mellow

Not everyday I hoot and cheer
For strangers on stage
That I met a month ago
Spilling sweat, filling up 175 mm of rain gauge

Not everyday I speak
With gullible voice, smile on face
In public, much less on stage
For my legs jitter with adrenaline’s pace

Not everyday I lose
Competition, control and my breath
Not when it comes to paper
Dancing, being lifted, though, it could have been my death

Not everyday I push
A friend to hit on a senior
Or another to perform Jazz
Dressed in the most desi attire

Not everyday I depute
A bindi, silver like stardust
Letting it on forehead, flaking and
Glittering my skin’s crust

Not everyday I deconstruct
Myself, Dad’s expectations and bangles
Everyday is not the freshers’
Chance to write my own chronicles…