(My sleep, assuming the next morning is ‘working’, is divided, on most days, into two unequal halves- the first usually sound six-and-a-half hour and the last eventful full of sounds half hour before waking up; this piece is a tribute to the second half)
Bathed in the rays of the virgin sun
Oh, wait- Poetic lies!
There must be sun somewhere
But doesn’t it care to sneak in,
On a tranquil winter dawn.
A thin blanket pacifies the raw breeze
That takes shelter in my room;
Ah, I always forget to shut the window
Before I go to sleep.
But I have been woken up
By distant horns on roads,
Blarings of senile engines
And occassional screeching tires
Brushing past the wind
With a whooshing sound.
Then I pick up the cellphone
Lying leisurely beside my pillow;
And as I try to look at the time
It asks for the pattern password
Such a turn-off
In those blessed moments of ‘half-sleep’.
As trembling fingers vie
To get the pattern right,
Digital figures glow-
Oh, there’s still twenty minutes of sleep.
Turning from one side to the other
Won’t I get up for pranayama,
As I promised Baba?
Five more minutes of sleep- without bother.
There’s something more disturbing-
Ah, the dripping sound
Incessantly invading my thoughts
From the bathroom-
Again I forgot the plumber
Wish I’d saved his number!
With every passing minute
All these sounds turn scary as hell
Louder than ever;
The horns, the tires, the crows, the water
And finally the ‘music’.
I promise to myself-
I’ll never let me hate that beautiful song
Because it’s the morning alarm!