The Boring Day

The clock ticks slow, a measured beat, A rhythm dull, incomplete. The sun drifts lazy, clouds stand still, The air hangs heavy, void of thrill. The books lie closed, their pages mute, No melody from a distant flute. The breeze forgets its usual play, All whispers lost to a boring day. The hours stretch, their edges blur, No spark, no stir, no vibrant spur. The world, it seems, has gone to gray, Drenched in the haze of a boring day. Yet in the stillness, thoughts unfold, In quiet corners, stories untold. For even in dullness, dreams can rise, To color the gray of the somber skies. The boring day, a canvas plain, Awaiting brushstrokes to reclaim. A spark, a start, a shift, a sway— Life can begin in a boring day. ✍️ Ayshat.........