Sunday Morning

This Sunday morning trembles
In silence and languor
A cluster of ants on spilled honey
This Sunday morning wakes up slowly

Utensils don’t clang
Vehicles don’t bustle
Only the birds chirp
Calendarless and happy.

I wake up to steal the calm
With gentle footsteps
I have the morning all for myself
Without the mundane monotony.

I have all the time for Neruda
And the confetti of dreams
I let fly yesterday afternoon
I recline and relapse comfortably

I watch the ants run nimbly
I read somebody’s extrapolations
As a dull enchantment ensnares me
I chuckle to myself and push it off lazily

Adverbs all over the place
Dripping like wet clothes
I dream of my sleeping lover
And his lashes fluttering quietly.

4 thoughts on “Sunday Morning

  1. aa sunday mornings… wanted to reach for my chai and the crossword section..curl up and just forget everything else..till i realized it was a dreary monday morning! *sigh*
    But, atleast your poem took me back for a bit! Nice!

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