My life is dead; dull, dim monotonous in its repetition.
Every minute and hour spent, to second without option.
From the time I wake up to the time I sleep,
Rigorous, onerous routine takes me on its grip.
I talk and walk, eat and greet, work and rarely play,
Sameness orders justice, to an object of clay.
I see me dead, sung and read in what I do repeat
Life like this is meaningless, with so much of defeat.
I look outside without pride to find a falling deed,
Seed which made the leaf in time, to free it back as seed!
Days and nights, weeks and years, seasons come and go,
Flowers and fruits grow the roots without feeling low!
I came to me to look at me and heavens what I found,
Organs singing do, re, me without making sound!
A voice in me has a caller tune that made a proud defeat,
Life's alive out in the air because I repeat.