Three Poems

Yet another Day

Morning comes upon us, a yawn
like a languid dun of a rag,
Fog mellows a diaphanous veil of dawn.

Morning screams with twittering birds
The milk man's wake up call
The Azan, a reminder that drowns all other sounds.

Outside, the lorries doze on the stand
The sweepers swish the streets clean
Inside the tinkling of teacups
The sun rays settle on the breakfast table.

The newspaper slashes headlines
The morning has come upon me
Reluctant to shed the night,
I emerge to face the challenges
of yet another day.

Single Mother

They call you a brat,
They call you a bastard,
But you are my honey boy,
golden hair to match the sun.
Eyes that laugh in joy,
You are my lovely boy.
Throw away the lost heritage
Move on to meet the world
as a proud son of a single mother.

Mornings, Bright and Beautiful

Mornings  bright and beautiful
Sunlight chintzed through bamboo screen
flower's fragrance on my right.

It's another day
The sun rays,
beckons the news,
on a breakfast  tray.

News is bad as news can be
Massacre in B'bay, woman raped
families lost, a child burnt.

News is good as news can be
Global issues to be settled
A new star rises in the west
To heal the scars of years gone by.

Must I brood over this intrusion,
of bombs and blasts,
on a bright and beautiful morning,
Must I shake under the pain of the other's loss.
Do I have a choice?
On this bright and beautiful morning
In the clink of the cup and plate
I hear the shattering of glass,
on the whiteness of the serviette
I see the coffins of my mate.

On the Television
The sorrows of the bereaved
The death numbers
 rising by the day.

Sums up the fact
That on this bright and beautiful morning
There are hundreds for whom
It is the beginning of an endless night.