Morning shows the day its way

Sometimes in the morning

I go back to sleep

trying hard to keep

my dreams from dispersing

or consorting with reality,

which in turn might whisper

to sounds of morning unfolding

The grandfather clock keeps

tick talking back and forth

tea kettles puff and pant

as milk boils over agitated

and hard-boiled eggs feel

the soft touch of butter

on toast. The coffee is cold

when afternoon rushes in

sharp on the hour at noon

as briskly as morning recedes

on the coattails of yesterday

Life begins and ends as it

always has, like never before


Shyam Bhatya

Poetry was never my forte, but like you, I have to get it out sometimes. Feel free to critique or comment below.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s