The Day Repeats Poem by ashok jadhav

The alarm sounds sharp, a summons I obey,
And yet each hour unfolds as all before.
The coffee warms the hands, the streets hum past,
And faces blur in neutral, patterned steps.
I move through tasks with careful, measured pace,
Each gesture scripted by unchanging need.
The mind grows weary, dulled by repetition,
Yet fear restrains the longing to escape.
No fire breaks the gray, no sudden storm,
Only the quiet passage of the same.
The heart recalls what once was vivid, bright,
Now dimmed beneath the weight of ceaseless habit.
Perhaps the tragedy is silent, slow,
A life endured without its own consent.
And still I rise, and still I walk the line,
A witness to the muted loss of self,
The days accumulating like falling ash,
And none to mark the sorrow that remains.