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Saturday, July 1, 2017

The morning after...

Wee hours of early dawn
On an an old chestnut door
Sticks on a Bougainville leaf
With seasonal raindrops
Drying over its withered brown
Humming birds from woods afar
Fly closer to this temple's bells
That swing with strong winds
And the sleeping baby
Turns it's face 
away from the lightening sky above...
The porch is dim lit humid stuffy and cold
Occasional fireflies crash the dull
Her glass bangles tinkle aloud
As she walks in haste
Through the dark courtyard
Grass bordering the moss covered stones
Makes sure her speed is held back
With conscious gait
Her hands of sound dust the leaf off the door
It creeks , toddler disturbed
The dome fills with its half asleep cry
She quickly lights the lamp
Burns incense
And places as an offering
A bundle of moist crumpled notes
Earned from the night before
Joining her hands in prayer
Not forgetting to collect them back
As she opens her sleep deprived eyes
Gobbling down the offerings by other seekers
She seeks solace, lying tired
Beside her infant, letting it suckle
future from today's calm heart
As it beats with the rhythm of the bells
She, her offspring and God...
This moment is home
- Prajakta Sathe.

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