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It Was A sunday.


sunday
It was a quiet day.
Is it a Sunday?

None walked down the street all day.
No cars hooted during the course of the day.

Nothing to diffuse the serenity of the day
except the rustling of leaves in the alley,
humming a melodious tune to the breezy wave.

No other thing to distract the quietness
except the murmuring of the river with an eagerness
repeating the flow in a sequential liveliness,

None the less the day passed on untainted.
The day folded naturally without being garishly painted.
The serenity released a sombre feeling much awaited