The morning seems like late night.
The noon sun shines ever bright.
The haze dissolves as dusk falls
to once again blur my sight.
The morning seems like late night.
The noon sun shines ever bright.
The haze dissolves as dusk falls
to once again blur my sight.
The tailor sits on the street
zealously stitching away.
He hums to the sewings’ beats-
black, blue, green, purple and grey.
People come to stitch their clothes-
rush and are in a hurry.
He takes his time to reclothe,
and mends the torn and weary.
A smile replaces their frowns
but he cannot crown a clown.
Chirps of the birds wake me up-
a new day has just begun.
Steaming coffee the sleep slurps-
labours of the day summon.
Radio blares known and unknown.
Once a sweet voice now a noise.
Truth varies from picture shown,
and tells you you have a choice.
I seek mews of a seagull-
mills and trains sound a bugle.