this isn't an ode to life;
though it had felt that way
for a time.
for the many celebrations of the moon's passings
day after day, the cricket's croons, mynah's songs,
and the sweet morning purrs.
the quiet daybreaks, headaches eased by caffeinated bevs
tackling it all head-on, with prowess and perseverance.
come no soul, no other
though each would've satiated like the rest
like the biscuits dipped in my morning coffee
dare not stay too long lest the black chasm melt you away.
mornings still sweet, alone,
quiet
except rustling leaves, or the slow tick-tocks
tick tock tick tock tick tock
or skin on sheets, and the moans of yet another day
of doing the same damn thing
again
~2021
Barkat.S 