Dawn

Dawn is a part of the day,

And the doctor came to say,

The surgery had been successful,

Since the parents spent the night prayerful  .

The dislocated femur,

Seemed an absolute tremor,

The possibility of breaking her leg,

Couldn't forbid their child to trek.

The first rays of the light,

Drove away the pain of the night.

Dawn is a part of the day,

And in the month of May,

The venal manager stood in the attic,

As his empire fell into hands

 Of some rough critic,

With no solutions before the fellow,

He looked down at the pond being swallow.

It was their fifteenth anniversary,

But only place his beloved could visit

 Was the crematory. 

Even the first rays of the sun,

Had failed to infuse him into taking a turn.

As the poet penned the two stanzas,

A drop of tear fell on the papers,

It was the occasion of Diwali,

And the sky was filled with firecrackers.

Even after six months,

The daughter in law slept awake,

Utterly missing his sons' warmth.

He had heard people say,

" Dawn is the symbol of sheer positiveness,

Blossomed by the glorifying rays of first sunlight,

As if some new hope-filled with colors being painted "

The surgery had been an epitome of support for the statement,

While the other incident made it a flaky advertisement.

" We spend so much time into admiring the bright side of things,

That we tend to ignore the dark sides,

And Life always runs on the balance of the two ",

Was all he had left within him to say.