It is not so much the blade of day
that slices the morning’s eye open
as that it begins anyway
uncoerced and softly-spoken
breathing in the yeasty
rising breeze; and warms its fingers
on the rose-glow of clouds steep-
stacked and neat-racked by the sun’s balusters;
begins despite the clamour and the war cry
of the blown conch, the dawn prayer
the challenge of javelin voices that vie
to fling their chants through the air.
Morning comes like a man used to
lying awake waiting for tomorrow.
Sridala Swami is the author of the book of poems A Reluctant Survivor (Sahitya Akademi, 2007).
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