Off Day

Sunday time The sky is deep blue Clouds have left For the horizon to Settle and talk softly Among themselves Birds have left nests Early morning to pick Up worms and remain Engaged in their Playful skirmishes I inhale the fragrance Of morning flowers Swinging in cool wind The murmuring of the Distant stream is a sweet Song to my ears and I am Going to feel inebriated Something goes wrong The loud blast in the tv Victims are being identified Sound of ambulance Kills the sound of Whispering trees Better go to sleep And forget the world