Posted in Life, morning, Poetry

morning

 

is soft

upon the ears,

eyes blink away

perforated sleep

where aurora

waits to burst upon the horizon

like birdsong

 

early namaz

creeps upon the city

like a slow apology,

the crows an interpolation

 

a distant alarm goes off

like shards upon my soul

and it dawns on me

that this city-

stirring awake

like a drowsy child-

harbours enough restfulness

for chaos to skulk away

and sharpen its fangs

in darkness

 

my mother’s low breath

in meditation

tethers me to silence

and i wonder

who it was that said

 

crows do not sing.

 

 

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Author:

A reluctant cynic with a morbid fascination for skulls and Schopenhauer's philosophy. Sugar addict. Poetry lover. http://www.theverseforwear.wordpress.com

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