The creaking of the ceiling fan at dawn,
my head, astir with memories amidst the broken sleep pattern.
Beating the cymbal of nostalgia with mallets of yesteryears
I wake up to the diurnal rhythm
battering on the membrane of this humdrum life.
Across the ghat, the morning arati begins.
Humming a melodious aubade.
I open the matchbox to light the oven of desires.
They shine bright with the dawn’s carmine hue!
While I engage in a parley with the rising sun about its journey to the horizon’s flip side.
last evening.
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