Promise of the Morning

Every morning holds
a promise for me.

That unknown moment,
when I return to myself
and shuffle slightly
in the crumpled bed
as I wake up,
holds
the hope of a better day,
the power of my potential,
the lustre of letting go,
the largesse of love,
the fruit of forgiveness,
and the nectar of newness.

Every morning holds
a choice for me –
a choice of choosing
my freedom.

The morning shows me
the beauty of its promise
in the song of a bud
on the same shrub
that sees the withering
of a fragrant flower,
in the shine of the sun
that dispels darkness,
in the gurgle of a river
that is new every day,
in the flight of a bird
that celebrates a new sky.

And yet I hold on
to what I shouldn’t
and let go of
what I mustn’t.
I doggedly guard the pennies
in my tight fists
as pounds pass me by.

Every morning holds
a promise for me.
A promise that
I don’t keep.

2 thoughts on “Promise of the Morning

  1. VijayNair

    Quite simply a marvellous poem–one of the best I have read in recent memory–on promises and ‘a choice of choosing’ one’s freedom. There is a welcome, disarming simplicity in language and tone.Brilliant,Kamlesh.

    Reply

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