The place is strewn with notes,
required and unwanted.
They lie there for years
I never bother to arrange.
They fly when I turn the fan.
The table looks chaotic.
I do not pick them
feel lazy all the while.
I neglect my duties.
look distraught
so are my possessions,
unkempt and in disorder.
This has been my program
right from the school days
when my books and notes
reveal a disarray.
I am the same decades later.
As they say habit dies hard
I continue to live in a deviation,
a distraction hard to overcome.
Meenas Poems 