This Morning

Looks different than yesterday’s
(like something terrible happened).
I wonder what the night did to it.

Well, I did hear loud thunderstorms and
lightning struck.
The night was violent indeed.

Seems this morning is still shaken from that experience.
But like a good morning
it must pretend what happened last night is normal.

It must go on about daily chores.
It must wake the sun up.
It must awaken those birds.

Those free, happy birds
chirping among their friends
before they fly off in search of food.

Each day they must create
their own sustenance.
Their own reality.
Their own nests.

When a nest gets broken
they make another one
somewhere else.

Away from the prying eyes of

I hear the silent murmur
of this morning
no one else hears.

I hear its silent cry.
Its envy
of those birds.

Prerna Bakshi