To Monday

I mourn today- on a Monday. A craving had died, yesterday. I mourn its young death, a sudden death in full bloom, a death caused by its young age. Cravings, the strange creatures that they are, must die young. They always do. If nurtured- they die, if ignored- they do not age. And, in death they turn in to longings. All longings are afterlife of cravings who died young. They always die young! This moment there is a fire raging, the next-there is nothing, not even ashes, but only a longing. I wail, in denial of loss, still hoping for a bad dream to break and hear the sound of flowing music of bloom again. But,  it doesn't happen that way. Happiness is always a dream and nightmare is always the real world. Only dream breaks, nightmare lasts for ever. That's the nature of the world, to chase cravings and live in longings.

Life is a summation of all cravings and longings of a man. And, if, a week is the life span of desire, today is, the day on which seeds of future and past of desire are sown on a common ground. It is a Monday. And today is a day of mourning, of death of a craving that died yesterday night, died young and vigorous, suddenly, died of clock hitting the hour. Today, in my longing, I wail on the death of this beloved craving. But, today, a new craving is born too. Drowned in my own wailing, I am unable to hear its infant cry though. Mondays are sanatorium of desires, with a nursery and mortuary of cravings side by side; on this day, in wailing of death of a mature craving, that died yesterday, I can't hear infant craving cry with a new sound of life next door. Today is Monday, and on Monday I only mourn, the death of a craving, that died young, died yesterday.

-Pulastya