Calendar

These days I feel the calendar was made
Not to organize our days,
Nor to plan our weeks,
Nor to mark important events
Like birthdays and meetings and the day you start your period.

It was made
Not to tell you what day it will be on so-and-so date,
Nor to tell you what date it will be on so-and-so day.

The calendar was made
Not to inform you about high tide
Or low tide
Or festivals
Or public holidays.

Oh and it was made
Not in the least for decorating walls,
Or exhibiting bikini babes,
Or advertising banks,
Or covering books.

These days I feel the calendar was made
Only and only
So that I can make a big red cross
On the neat little box
At the end of a never-ending day,
Dreaming of crossing out every single square
Till the day you come back home.