woman with wine

Doing Nothing


She was not impressed
With the bouquet of yellow roses,
And sweet vegan canapés,
Or the flavoured espresso
Like she had expected to be.

It was day number four
Of the super exclusive retreat
That she had planned by herself,
Booking her idyllic bungalow
In the paradise she could afford.

Her sole purpose for this
Special getaway she’d arranged,
Was to break her usual routine
Of work, cook, read, sleep, work, or
Out in red matching her wine.

Being so robotic for that long
Had built boredom to stress,
Covered under a thick scaly skin
Of meaningless eccentricities
And a few expensive habits.

The flight was uneventful,
Or as much as it could be
While she spent her time
Reading, with ear buds blasting,
Wrapped under a big shawl.

She had two weeks in total,
To do whatever the assortment
Of activities, or the lack thereof,
That apparently befalls those
With great plans to do nothing.

The breakfast and flowers
Were just two little things
That reminded her of patterns
In herself that needed refashioning,
Like her hazy drunken dreams.

That whole bottle of wine
Still had her head spinning,
And the sight of this meal now
Was extremely nauseating,
So she got black coffee instead.

But she kept the roses after
Getting over the hangover,
Putting one in her hair
Since its meaning matched her mood
And her tasteful beach attire.

Drinking coconut water
While lounging on the sandy shore
Was what was on today’s agenda.
She had ten more days to enjoy
Doing more of nothing much.

The now dried rose petals
Took the same time to decay
That it took her to be rejuvenated.
And left paradise changed herself,
Wanting to adjust her monotony.

One benefit of doing nothing,
Was the reassessment of values
That were the shaky foundation
Of her dreadful cycle of normalcy
Which she’d return to rearrange.

Another benefit was the fact
That now she wanted to do more
Than be a spectator of her passing life,
And worked towards the meaningfulness added
With the dreams that doing nothing had revived.

Ria 2016