Sleepy morning

At six it is still dark for a dawn

The crescent moon still bright

In the east doesn't know it is

Time to go for the street lights

Are just going off to say it is now

Time for early risers to wake up 

And begin the morning routine

One jogger is already out coaxing

The sleep out of his night feet

What is this new bird singing?

It sounds like a migrant from

Colder climes celebrating this

New place just right for breeding.

Should I sleep or keep watching

The sky for the late riser's arrival?

Look back with love

Let me remember those days

When we forgot ourselves

The days we want to remember

Are those when we forgot ourselves

The songs we love take us away

From troubles we can't get out of

When we return we seem to have 

No troubles we can't get out of 

We look back with love at the past

For it contains all the ones we love

Those we have lost to time and those

Who have no time to look back with love

What we will own

The friend calling me after a long time

Recalls times we can't stop laughing over

For we almost got lynched that tense night

Going to help a couple elope from home

What happened was we had to abandon

Our mission and catch the first bus back,

The two later found the right time to leave

Their place and had a civil marriage which

Soon fell apart as the man woke up one

Morning and found his love had evaporated,

We were glad we had not forced the issue

To only find that hearts lose their ardour.

In college we were called vagabonds by

One classmate, prone to malapropism.

He did not take time off from his books

For an occasional film or to hang around

At the tea shop listening to the prince's

New songs that still light our way back,

The days we wasted are the ones we want

To relive for when the end comes we know

We will own nothing and nothing will own us.

Night

The rains have retreated

Leaving behind a shower

Of the silent dew at night

Through the window I see

The mist clinging to trees

And the street lights that coat

The road with a whitish hue

Looking like moonlight

The past is the unseen eye 

Through which I see the present

The house across the street back

In my native city comes back

There I saw for the first.time

The framed photo of hell and

Felt a stab of fear as the faithful

Explained the wages of sin

I have seen since the earthly

Versions of inferno and wondered

How anyone can be punished twice

The night is passing quietly with no

Dogs to break its merciful silence

I do not want to retreat yet and miss

The dark goddess who recites new verses.

Sunday

There's more to a Sunday than

Staring at the wife's face

How would a man know if

He is working on sabbath too

The rising sun is worth looking at

Through the canopy of trees

Where the birds greet its return

With a fanfare worthy of a king

Were you not there when the baby

Took its first steps towards you

Called you dada for the first time

Kept you awake with his stories

Spoken in the first language of man

There are chores to be done that

The hands doing them all alone

Six days a week should be free of

Let time not show its face for a day

When we have a face-to-face at home.

Sunset

The sunset speaks of dying memorably 

Turning heads with outbursts of tints

And outlines between form and thought

Homes beckon birds and humans while

Stars say there could be other roosts

That we have forgotten or lost sight of

The red orb flashes between buildings

Through the traffic it can be seen briefly 

No one has stopped to look at it sinking

The eyes wait impatiently for the signal,

There were times when the instant canvas

Daubed the heart with a myriad colours

Of ache, longing, nostalgia, and romance

When life's purpose was almost revealed.

Apricity

The light dims and brightens

As clouds keep the sun in and out

I am in two minds now  ---- to begin

The day or go back to bed, pretend

To sleep, hugging the shadows of night;

It feels colder than January last year

This could be because I am a year older;

What is that word to describe winter warmth

When the late riser finally gets to turn up?

Apricity --- is appreciated in the city not used

To the few months of hill station weather

The dew, I will swear, makes music sweeter

Even my voice is bearable when I dare to sing 

In the wee hours karoake songs of my summer.