Song On End Of The Day Poem by shuvo chakraborty

Sing the song on end of the day,
A day pleasant or foul matters not today,
Have ye luxury of time enough to play,
To resume the unfinished games of yesterday.
Freedom of conjured hours or minutes jumping
Out of hanging clock and dance random under sunny mirth,
Whatever the prefixed windows allow with girth.
Time to descend lower and leapfrogging the flyover
With the bundled appointments like the bucket flowers in hands determined,
Placing each like a stick, obituary to urban lives.
The glitz of morn whenever smells the afternoon flavor,
Taste the faithful salt with sipping soup of samovar,
Untied inviting smell of forked meats coming out of embroidered dish.
Time to settle the undone hours and minutes so demanding
And to reconcile the running blood with premature yawning,
As if craving the too tired heart not to blink in such wee hour.
There have been few bundle left yet to give,
Red sun flagging off withdrawing day and strong evening,
Time to take up the tantrum and compose the household strain,
Counting the loss and gain of a day with the rising smoke of astray,
A confirmed clay contriving another day not so certain.