Calender of days.

As each day passes,
One more day is added to the calender.
The page becomes a yesterday page,
And yet memories remain intact, right there.

Sometimes she wants to hold on to that day,
Sometimes she can’t wait for it to go.
Yet each day does go away,
Immaterial of her choice for its length of stay.

She, jolted, realises this truth,
And keeps the calendar back on the table.
Turns the page yet again,
And welcomes the next day, hoping it will be better than her last BAD DAY.

-Stuti

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