Morning

The clouds have opened their eyes wide And all blackness wiped off the face of The earth. Night’s curtain has been drawn. The rising birds in one single squadron Halloo the world, Winging and swinging through the Broad lanes of the ceruleans. I wake and tremble with the coldness of Netted fishes; My spirit stumbles upon fresh thresholds Whiter with the dews of a prostrating day. I return to my first day when I had cried. I speak of my vagitus. Morning celebrates itself, Its return from a wayward night trip, And the glory of dawn. Crows from drunken cockerels Ring out loud and clear on the spine of The village, Saluting the birth of a new-born day.