Do I distort the truth anyway?
Do I image with a jaundiced eye?
When I glibly say
That there is an “ordinariness” to our lives
A staleness which permeates
Every nook of breath
As we proceed with the
“Goings” of life
Birth, adolescence, marriage procreation,
Decay and death
With an accepted ease
Without raising an eyebrow
We chart a path well trodden
The same way as we do
Millions before have done
There is nothing new
We do not question
We do not venture astray
But just walk by like wandering gypsies
Perhaps in quest of the final call of the day
When a meteor strikes the earth
A crater dents the crust
We look at each other and accusingly say
“You did dare break the rut
Doom befalls you next”
Am I wrong when I say
There is an “ordinariness” to our lives
Which is here for aeons to stay
