The Motion Of Empty Days

The alarm screams.

They rise in the dim glow of a screen,

scrolling through lives more vibrant than their own.

A sigh, a stretch, a pause—

then it begins.

Shower. Coffee. Clothes that fit but never feel right.

They step into the world,

merge into the river of bodies,

each one moving, but going nowhere.

Small talk in offices bathed in fluorescent light,

emails, meetings, deadlines—

a cycle dressed as progress.

They nod, they agree, they exist.

Lunch at desks, staring at clocks,

half-dreaming of something else,

something bigger—

but bigger never comes.

Evening spills into traffic,

horns and red lights,

home to a silence that doesn’t greet them.

Dinner in front of a screen,

talking but not speaking,

listening but not hearing.

Another scroll, another sigh,

another night spent wondering

if this is all there is.

Then the alarm screams.

And they rise again.

We wake up, go through the motions, and call it living. But how much of our day is truly ours? How often do we pause, not just to exist, but to feel—to break free from routine and remember what it means to be alive?

This isn’t just a poem. It’s a mirror. And maybe, just maybe, it’s time to look a little closer.