Each year, I drag through all the ridiculously
Euphoric days of January waiting eagerly
For the realism of February to rid myself of
Burdens of creating new habits and patterns
I have no intentions of following through the
Year. With February, come all the old horrid
Ways of existing, devoid of any residual guilt
That had settled with the frost of January.
It is now okay to sleep in through the mornings
Reserved for runs and walks or other tortuous
Ways of morning people. It is also okay to
Let all the tasteless greens die at the back
Of the fridge. They will not be replaced or
Missed. The promise of reading new books,
Listening to new artists and exploring more
Films from the African content will lie neglected
Amongst playlists of AR Rahman and Joan Baez
Who are in the same old company of Little Women
And Derry Girls replaying at 2 AM on the first
Tuesday of February when the world appears
Absurdly quiet. Like it dropped dead from
Exhaustion after a month of playing pretence.
Tomorrow when it wakes up, everyone will
shed the novelty of this year to settle into their
Own skin with certitude and confidence to
Leave the lure of discounted year long gym
Memberships. Because it is February, the
the month of accepting the stubborn ways
Of human existence that need a little more
Than a new revolution around the sun to change.
About the poet:
Bhawna Jaimini is an architect, writer, and activist-in-making. You can follow her here.