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Morning Walk

Newspapers dropped in the dark by a
skulking green van
Vendors huddle on their bikes
in jackets pretending
that it is cold.

I sweat.

Rivulets run down my cheek,
down my spine.
Knees wobble, not knowing that the rest of
me is somewhat awake
walking the long walk.

My baby look up at me.
Big eyes stare, wide awake
as if to say, “Chill out”.
The sparrows agree. Wake the neighbourhood chirping
in their hundreds. It is four in the morning.

The Post Office glimmers faintly in the
light of a flickering tubelight
In the crisp March morning
the frangipani awakens.


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