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.
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