Sunday Afternoons

Monday blues are preceded by Sunday yellows And I have always hated these Sunday afternoons To me, they feel so lazy I watch as the world turns silent and still No noise except for the creaking of a fan or a radio in the distance Listen closely, you might even be able to hear the ticking of the clock I watch as the people sleep on cots or mats strewn on the floor Their bellies rising ever so slightly and their mouths open, snoring They are immersed in a slumber earned after a week's toil A minute to ease up in the middle of the day, free from travail For me these afternoons are different though, As the world rests, I observe time stopping, taking a step back before charging again at the new week Sundays feel like the warm sun on your skin as you sit by a river in the countryside You watch the river flow past ever so lazily Eyes glazed, lost in nostalgia and peace on your mind.