The Rising Sun

There is something about watching the Sunrise

After a long tiring night,

Amidst the woods, on a cliff-

Sitting on the soft cover

Of fallen battered and barren dry leaves,

Of brown and yellow;

Your eyes dropping and closing every now and then,

A bit reddish, a bit cerise, all signs of exhaustion and wait,

Woken up by the cold breeze that stings

Making the night rougher

Yet strangely the green abode comforts you –

Its steep climb, its careless paths, its carefree air.

There is something about the wait

To watch the Sunrise-

You lean on to the shoulders next to you,

Humming an old song under your breath,

Soaking in these rare woods.

The fire is about to go out

but you didn’t care to lit another,

Instead you look at all the blackish grey remains,

Rising fumes, wondering about life –

Some burned and some left

But you don’t cringe, you don’t brood,

You keep singing your song and stay present, in this moment.

The gold now pelting gently on your cheeks

The horizon under the rusty red,

Hovering just above the surface

And the sky in a mix shade of purple and deep blue begin to melt.

You sit upright in anticipation,

You wish to speak about it –

About the magnificent confluence of colors, you are gazing at

But no words, no expression came out

And silently you watch the Sunrise –

Connecting the hidden stars, the drowning moon and the rising Sun.