Morning

7'o' Clock in the morning. Everything is still. The world is asleep.
The sun has risen. Daylight streams in through the windows. The occasional bird glides across the sky. It appears to be the only sign of life.

The air is cool, almost deceptive of the heat that is anticipated. There is no blare of car-horns, loquacious folks, screeching buses. The only sound one hears is that of the speeding fan.
The leaves of the trees, too, do not move. Are they asleep too?

This is indeed amongst the better times of the day. When all are asleep, not much harm can be rendered to anyone. Everyone is at his or her best behaviour. Unconscious. Who knows how many hearts they shall break through the day? Presently, they are serene, for they rest.


I lie here, watching daylight stream through the windows, listening to the hum of the fan.
The world is asleep.