Mornings (as entry points to life)

Mornings are such fabulous entry points. This time of dark departures and silent welcomes. Something which is sheltered tenderly through the night is brought out, a chance to wipe every falling tear, the time to see if blossoms can blossom to wipe the night’s sorrow, when the pleasure of the view far surpasses the depth of a nightmare.    I often wake up feeling stale, helplessly hoping for streaks of light, and step out into the uncertain dawn, which wonders about its status, but still moves ahead with its uncertainties. And that gives confidence, that emerging of an old world as new. And I step out naked to all feelings, open to change, open to jettison the old, to make way for acts of strange bravery.   There’s this tingling, as the skies find ways to give into colour, just as a singer says “this is the naked truth, this is the light”. And you wonder if this is a start or a break, for truths have to be given their due in ways you will never realize. Pulchritude has a price, you think, but you postpone the thought, as there is too much to absorb - thinking can be done later. And you realize there is only one place to go - forward.   If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on the grace of mornings: <ul><li><a href='https://open.spotify.com/episode/5FdowzdJd78cRuttsGVDD1?si=IXIyB-c2T-GPCS-7Ows2dA'>Lovers in the Morning</a></li> <li><a href='https://open.spotify.com/episode/5FOsuLjRU7jsOEZUNX0MjD?si=4AWXIOXNTrSycCcNnVfbFQ'>A Morning Ramble on How Love is Rediscovered at the Bottom of Rubble</a></li> <li><a href='https://open.spotify.com/episode/5j3bANdLhNwaOujr8KvZjP?si=TSNC7RwNTJ6ESqo4ZUxWNg'>Sipping Tea in a Rumi Morning</a></li> </ul> <p><a href='https://www.podbean.com/ew/pb-vzibf-1038c51'>Follow me on Instagram a</a>t <a href='http://www.instagram.com/sunilgivesup'>@sunilgi</a><a href='http://www.instagram.com/sunilgivesup'>vesup</a>.</p> <p>Get in touch with me on <a href='mailto:uncutpoetrynow@gmail.com'>uncutpoetrynow@gmail.com</a></p> Subscribe to my incandescent and poetic news