Mornings Are Not The Same.. Poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi

The morning was still,
With empty vacant shells,
All the promises of a coward,
Implemented to witness the result.

The majestic harmonious trees
Fail to break the wind in obedience,
The clearly visible blue sky,
Smeared with cotton clouds.

There was a single star shone,
its gorgeous inefficient attitude,
Looking through the empty space,
There were thousands of them peeped.

Everything here is still, even the meadow,
Full of green grass, recently wetted with rain,
The single infertile palm tree possessed by the spirits,
Of the past ancestors and their deceived prayers.

Facing the sky and a threat to the lonely dwellers,
Everyone here is still, called themselves as civilized,
Everything here is labeled and numbered to be slaughtered,
Something is alive here, not the noises from the aircon.

Not the passing of signals through the repeaters and antennas,
Not the downloading computer and caressing motherboards,
Not the house alarms that are armed and in attention,
Not even the bank cards that are loaded with credits.

But the pounding hearts that long for love and care.