Sunday, May 20, 2012

October India.

Long before the sleepy-eyed
taps begin to cry fresh water,
and the giant tree's slumber
breaks into birds chirpy,
the orange of the sky
lets a bit of sun.

Pretending a night still,
I dig deep in my blanky.
It wards me off and jumps
on the ground, mimicking a fall.
I am sure it’s a conspiracy

morning noises
evaporate dew
 clock ticks 8
I am again late.

On my way
I see clouds of dust being pulled(swept)
 from the ground and work being done
A line of trees becomes my sight
with morning flowers red and white.

Washed with a  bucket full of sun
promise of  good day has begun

punctuated with work
 dazzled festive air                                                                                                                                       the time of year winter
dresses for october fair.

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