PERFECT
MORNING
R. R. Menon
The perfect morning is when you wake up
at four-thirty a.m., and discover sleep
ebbing away, and you slowly slip
into your partner’s bed for a paced trip
unto heaven, and then find a cup
of tea at its end awaiting your grip.
Earth is my home, the flight into bliss
doesn’t change it, the sense of happiness
persists. Contentment flaps its wings
to fly nowhere, the atmosphere sings.
The sun sends his messengers before
he breaks in. The red, round ball of light
bathes the world in white, and now more
of him comes into play to our sheer delight.
Those who sleep through it all can’t sense
the reviving force of sun’s soft touch
or the cool breeze that yearns to reach
and anoint your skin with ambrosia’s essence.
They are guilty of nature’s covenant-breach.
Morning ablutions and a hot water bath
usher you out for that morning serenade
along the chosen, routine garden path,
and you have the start of day well-made.
Magic moments! You see God face to face
as you sing his praise in hallowed phrase.
Both heaven and hell dwell within us,
to choose right, you need to be pious.