The Morning

At one time
the morning rays spill on the veranda
of our small, sweet home.
Little sparrows and vilage mynahs
beat in exhileration.
Just bathed
my mother in her soaked saree
plucks flowers for puja.
Kamin Didi
holding the sweeping broom
moves towards the Kolkay tree.

At one time
the sound of local womenfolk's
rhythmic beating of rice-thresher stops.

Lying on my bed
I see and sense all these
just to fall asleep again....

After all, my entire life is
nothing but a long dark night

by CHOUDHURI SUKUMAR

Comments (2)

This is a wonderful poem, full of morning freshness! The verses are beautifully written. well done HBH
Simply beautiful, thank you