Poem: Sunday Dawn

The Sunday Morning is possibly the best time of the week. No pressure, no alarm, no calls. The bed and the pillows are heaven.

Poem: Sunday Dawn

Rainy Sunday Morning : Image by Сергей Шабанов from Pixabay

The sun refuses to go to work
This particular Sunday morning
But there’s no one to complain to
Some somber tales happening above

Silence of the dawn broken by
the hissing cry of the heavens
Teardrops lit by ambiguity
between light and darkness

But between you and me
Who cares about the sob story?
It’s Sunday slumber that beckons me
With a warm pillow and beautiful dreams.

- Ashok Subramanian © 2023

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