In Mornings Poem by Ananya Guha

In mornings there is explosion
a certain humming, a certain resistance
to the sun or the thunder
cars frantic have rollicking fun
school kids think that morning is ceaseless
but, soon there will be shadows
and lingering dust
dogs' tail will wag
mornings are premeditated action
a little discernment
and mornings will take to paths
unscented.

In mornings
she takes her position near
the bus stand, vegetables that she sells
may or may not (sell)
but mornings are arcades of hope
and in this city mornings have the luminous
mornings have smell of flowers
mornings are creepy mirages of another day.