The early morning whistle
Heralds not the sun
But the dreaded PT.
Whoever thought
Of such a thing?
Eyes puffed and sleepy
We run, lest we are late
And invite the coach's scorn –
The football ground is wet.
The dew wets our bums, as
We attempt at sit ups.
Jogging is another
Thing I hate.
I am in the front,
Being short, doing the rounds
Of PWD colony.
Out of breath, we reach
the TDSA hall.
The dogs give us
Company… snaps at me.
'Grrr..…' what did I do
to you?
Back to the ground, and a few
Pushups.
Then we are free.
But are we really?
There's always
The whistle
Of tomorrow.
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