a poem by Kalyan Datta, India

Limpid thoughts emerge on the edge of twilight,
Slowly they alight on memories more shiny and bright,
Surreptitiously slipping out of Morpheus' sedative spells,
They dazzle out of listless spirits, smiling at alarm bells!

Its time to yawn and stretch, breathe hard and long,
Wait as your passions fill up till the end of the sixth gong,
Take on the wide world full of refreshing morning invites,
Rejoice as you glide down the meadows of small delights!

Mirrored in the corner, rinse and gargle your pains away,
Think twice to shed your wools to the warming balm of day,
Here comes the hour when all good reason prevails,
The long night gone, sweetened pangs help lighten entails!

With new reserve of sap, every pore is brimming now,
Sloth is forgotten forever, colorful you stride and how,
The song in your head whistles tunefully in the mood,
Each sight is a beauty to behold, and build soulful food!

The goodness of the morning remains forever high,
See the moon on a ghost, as it flutters goodbye,
Yellow buses of chattering children in blue and grey,
Rush to school, laughing and smiling on the day!

Bicycled delivery boys holler hard their wares,
To annoy reticent retirees deep in their shares,
Ginger and cardamom tinkling under the pestle,
Smell the aroma of teas brewing 'tween cup and kettle!

I say.....now the morning has come full and even,
And glorious hours pass by from five to seven,
She's the queen astride the carpet of posies,
Who walks for fitness along carnations and daisies!

Nameless faces watch you, and go smiling by,
Flinch not, be sure to smile wider, don't be shy,
Be soft and gentle, calm those with buttery affection,
Who seek morning blessings, give 'em a solemn direction!

The early hours are pristine, cut out for good thoughts,
They wash off all fears, banish all direful behemoths,
Embrace friends and foes alike, in the best season,
Oblivious to those who comment, without rhyme or reason!

Be careful to stiffle not the spark that has long to go,
Be vigilant, but douse not the fire whose flame will show,
That the mornings of toil gone by, built the man,
Whose struggles tell the tale........to those who can!

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