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February by Bhawna Jaimini

Art by Marc Byron Whitney


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.


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