Early Days

The May sun scorches
Krishnachuras blaze
The mind is moribund.
The body strains
The flesh is unwilling
The spirit drooping
My mind's haze engulfs all.
Early days!
Impossible still
To crawl unburdened
To the grave;
Impossible to stir
Impossible too
To still the mind
And crawl on the pot-holed road ahead
                                              Towards death!
Early days!