Quiet Chamber

  I rise every morning to see this boring world,

To be in this old picture of a memory unfurled.

The same ceiling above my head is white,

The fan spins noisily and the morning sunlight

Enters from the window covered by muslin,

Draped by the floral curtains, the shrubs growing.



I see from my narrow sleepy eyes

The monotonous world of joys and cries.

The bird chitter-chatter outside to make

All the people of this world awake.

Their voices are not enough to pierce through

The eardrums of the people asleep although,

They set their clocks to shrill at dawn

When no sun is visible, they stay awake but yawn.

It’s better to sleep than to stay awake when not

In real, but slacken in the morning a lot.



I move in the conditions yet inanimate.

They run for the school and work to not be late.

I reach the spot even before them

Still I camouflage in the commotion solemn.

I sit at the corner and observe all of them.

Is there someone who sees me seldom?