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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