Poem: The Morning Mystery

Mornings. The time when we slip from dream to reality, when the sun ruthlessly pulls off the dark blanket of night over the earth. The effort to wake up is immense.

“i’m glad to be alive
in a world where
his gently awakening eyes
nourish the morning sun.”
― Sanober Khan, Turquoise Silence

I am glad to be alive when a fellow poet’s morning meets the twilight of my day. This gladness morphs into a poetry exchange, of course.

The Morning Mystery: Image by Claudio_Scott from Pixabay

Poem: The Morning Mystery

As you open your eyes
The orchids bloom
Your smile resembles
The bouquet of daffodils
Even the summer sun mellows
Hiding behind a rainy cloud.

Ashok Subramanian © 2023

The inimitable Priya Patel, who is my partner in poetry collaboration responded, for it was her morning. I smiled at her response, for I wrote about flowers, and she wrote about fairies. Here it is.

My eyes flutter open
like butterfly wings,
landing directly on this screen
where your words await me
And me? Like a fairy,
I sprinkle sparkling dust
in my response to you

Priya © 2023

I considered my response. As I had stated earlier, morning is the transition from dream to reality. And, Priya, before anything else, is a real friend to me.

I prefer to sleep
So that I can meet you
In my dreams
But then in another moment
I realize that you are real
So I yawn and sing in the dawn.

~Ashok © 2023

Ah, Priya was still not awake but wondered how would I look in her dreams. Would I be a tree or a bumble bee? Here is her response.

If I was to meet you in my dreams
I wonder what shape would you be
I’ve often imagined you tall as a tree
and sometimes as a bumblebee
for surely you must have stung me

~Priya © 2023

I stuck to the reality lane. It was simple. I was a little human like a grass that holds her memory like the morning dew that disappears in the first light of dawn.

I am a little, normal human
Trying to live a life I can
Not the top of the brass
But like the little green grass
That tries to remember you
Like the grass holds the morning dew
Which disappears in the fickle light of dawn
But by then, another poem exchange is on.

~Ashok © 2023

As usual, the gracious Priya let me finish the exchange. The morning mystery of waking from dreams to reality still held onto our friendship and exchange more poems like these.

~Ashok Subramanian