in mornings there is
break of silences
even as the milk man
hurricane like is at the
door with his water spilled
milk, and I can hear the
neighbour saying: all is water
no, it is not, if all were water
there would be no milk.
the milk man arguing, the
neighbour slamming the door.
morning has arrived, doors clang
as if summarizing what is to come
for the rest of the day sitting in haunches
waiting to perfected in the art of raucousness.
I stealthily step out in a wandering mode, work will
come I know, colleagues will sip tea, till the unwilling
pen or the computer takes over. Time is still a ticking noise
and when gates of work shut there is this desire
to rework morning, in its penumbra of noisy silence.
Ananya S Guha