The breeze comes wrapped in little packets
of mildly sweet sunlight
it comes down the wires of early dawn, sticky with
scents of another world –
fearless, freshly roasted.
Without any sound, it steals into the yard and spreads
its new untested wings… a sigh, or a glittering laugh follows.
Mornings are sacred. New life is birthing. The possibilities
are endless. Meaning will be made again. A story will live.
A bud will unlock its breath in the looping afternoon shade.
A small smile will crack tough. A heart will heal and a scar
will grow fainter. Somehow. Anyhow.
And the world will cheer
as you pass by in flight. Be sure.
Mornings are prayer.
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at [email protected].
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