Life is a cakewalk .....

A week is like a cake these days..

A lovely round cake, cut into unequal seven slices of yummy delight, filled with raisins and nuts, covered with the most delicious toppings। But just felt so, that each day has a different topping, a different sauce on it।

The Monday's slice start with a plain vanilla sauce, like clean white bedsheets, without a single wrinkle; ironed to perfection, but as hard as flawless frozen ice cover, It looks as if it is covering something beneath i cannot eat। Like a protection shield. I just cant dig my teeth of possessiveness into it, and even if I try to take a bite, my teeth break with all my ego, and get shattered.

Tuesdays and Wednesdays, as the ice melts, are for lemon and strawberry flavor toppings, often sweet and sour, often reversed, and mixed। I love the mild and magical taste of it, it makes me forget the stiff ice, and yet, try not to overindulge, remembering what had happened my ego-tooth।

Thursdays and Fridays are like the one filled with rum and raisins, with a splash of chocolate sauce, served with soda and ice cream, perfection unlimited, sometimes with a cherry on the top। It feels like the cake itself would love to be consumed। I often forget my teeth and try to dig in the maximum, as it there was no tomorrow.

Maybe, there is no tomorrow this week too।

Yes, I remember, my teeth would get yuckier, smellier, sticky and bad by tomorrow - the Saturday। Saturdays, i prefer eying the cake though the glass , standing outside the show window। My teeth ache and I my tongue of desire slurps between by teeth of ego, often biting to bleed. I stick like hungry beggar kid outside the heavily exciting display of the show window., while my lips pucker in desire full of despair. The exciting red sauce looks too tempting, but lately I have stopped enjoying my cake on weekends.

Though the cake looks brightest and red hot on weekends, I try to let it pass, but my over indulgence only makes me dream of the forbidden pleasure। Then, I tell my mind, about how and why the cake got so good looking today। Maybe the weekend cake is not for me. I have had it all week, but the weekend cake, well, is not my slice. Sometimes, I remind myself of the incidents when I stole into the weekend's slice with red strawberry sauce, only to yell with reality. The red for sauce was actually Hawaiian chili sauce, and not strawberry as i thought, that day.

The shutters of the show window get pulled down and i keep banging my head to the shutter, silently. I do see some spots of red where I bang my head, and lick the same to satisfy my ego, waiting for the Monday's clean white vanilla slice. Sometimes I do try to enjoy a Sunday slice to an extent, but with a fear of breaking my teeth again. Who knows I get a hard nut in my cake that would again break my decaying teeth.

I try to look at other wonderful pastries around, and even those exciting servings of deliciously sinful delights, where my craving could be satisfied, but I guess, like a child, I love my cake, no matter if it is not mine anymore. My possessiveness and overindulgence about eating the whole cake is obviously the killer. My teeth are rotting, giving away with each week passing by. The cake has started eating me instead of vice versa. One day, the cake of time with eat me up, and teeth of ego with lie in the ashes with my other calcium structures of what I still call – myself.

Life is a cakewalk. isn't it?

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P.S. : We all have our own ways to calm ourselves. I think, writing is one way that does the minimum harm. So i prefer to write to keep myself calm. I do not intend to hurt, harm or put down anyone.