Morning hour,
no job done,
the voices soar, alone;
I am in mourn,
streaked by thoughts, sour;
thinking of this sojourn,
when will I ever learn?
I retreat,
retrace my home,
lost in thoughts,
an air of solitude rots,
open the curtains,
sun shines,
between the two old pines,
then again the moment lull,
as if the mind is full,
and body is not,
then I close my eyes,
dark from sun’s spice,
I surmise
I am at the skies,
me alone,
happy,
then the alarm sappy,
forms my thunder,
I wake up, an aura of splendour,
then the fresh life,
stale tea.