4000 Little Respites

Aren’t we weary and
Tired of life itself?
Aren’t we all bored of
The entries into our memoir?
Aren’t we ashamed of
The obituaries
To be read?
Aren’t all our eyes
In need of a respite?
A blink, perhaps?
A 4000 little respites
For every hour
We stay alive.
Maybe a little more
Than that of resort.
A refreshment, indeed.
A break from the windows
Of vision and the doors
Of unending tales.

As time flies,
The tides of changes
Grows stronger
And stranger.
Forcing one’s focus
To depart, before it ever comes.
The too many hustles
We endure;
The multiple facades
We create;
Sometimes help with the
Heaviness of the days we carry.

But,

But the busyness never helps
With the exhaustion we bear.
The weariness we suffer.
We seek, then.
A 4000 little respite of few blinks
To keep the staggering fire
Flaming afresh.

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Inspired by:

Blinking, we call it. It’s like a small black shutter that clicks down and makes a break. Everything goes black; one’s eyes are moistened. You can’t imagine how restful, refreshing, it is. Four thousand little rests per hour. Four thousand little respites—just think!

No Exit, Jean-Paul Sartre