The calendar heaves with every beat; and

So do the days, the months and the weeks. 
And that Year too,
Is pegged against the denuded wall. 
'Look', it says -
You see I often complain -
'I'm just the canvas; someone else
Even I wish to break free - don't you see!
The burden sometimes is too unbearable even for me.'

I stab it with my index
And pin it against the wall.
Around forty-eight murdered that day
And the count wasn't even accurate at all!

'Tomorrow shall be another day.'
'Of murder, mayhem and dismay?'
'I'll let you know...'
'That how many bodies did they tow?'
"Your tryst with destiny is when -
I'm not your enemy but definitely not
A friend.'