How We Kill The Morn

And still, the light comes — unarmed....

We say we love a gentle morn,

then douse our neurons 

in scalding coffee

We could float endlessly 

upon rose-puff clouds,

but the noise is ours 

that pierces the bosom of dawn.

What stops us from wrapping ourselves 

in perfect morning bliss

but our own high-voltage mind,

squirting tiny inkjets of urgency

into our bloodstream

even before we open our eyes?

And we’re conscripted 

before we’ve even risen-

armed to slice through the stillness,

blow apart the hush.

We do not nurture daybreak.

We attack it with lists of do-or-die.

Baby sunbeams come to play,

but are shunned from the window itself.

The birdsong is snubbed too.

Tendrils harden.

The dew on the roses dries.

Morning never asked for a war.

It came to us in peace.

We were the first to draw the sword.

Author's Note

A meditation on the war we wage before the world even wakes.

Reviews

[Arundass TP]

Calmness in the morning. Throw away swords. Take red roses. Good poem

[DIVYA]

Thank you my friend Arun. About time we did. How are you today?