it’s time

Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash

saying a silent hello
to
the milkman
the breadwallah
the kid delivering newspapers
all heralding
the dawn of a new day

evading the canines
their territories claimed
skirting the potholes
large enough to deserve a name

walking on footpaths
where hope lies protected by blankets
flanked by shops
stocking aspirations
with shutters designed
to make it a bit harder
to make achievement worthwhile

stopping to pick up flowers
fallen
then to leave them by
my daughter’s pillow
to watch her smile
at finding a new friend
and to see the flower beam
at finding a new home
for a bit
till the petals appeared
randomly
in some book
picked up after long
another pause waiting
for the restart button

drowning all this out
those playlists curated
one by my
natural stupidity
and
one by someone’s
artificial intelligence
discovering a phrase
a tune
that brought a smile
pushing out thoughts
and the niggle

watching the light wake up
and the lake shimmer
a familiar face sometimes
nod of acknowledgment
avoiding that juice stall
with unheard of vegetables
tip toeing across that
couple snatching a moment
fun, fitness, hanging out,
generally, serious,
the lone and the running clubs,
motivations neatly segregated

time to power up the watch
time to crank up that playlist
time to get reacquainted
with dawn and light
time for Naik
to retire the Nikes
and start afresh

peace and calm
it’s time

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Maruti Naik

Maruti Naik

I write to remember. I write to remain honest. I write to leave a bread crumb trail for my daughter. I write to relax. Trying to impress my better half, I write