Poems

A predawn sky.

Motley birds waking up building up a chorus of their own,

Few morning walkers struggling to supress their yawn.

Few minutes left to grab some fresh air,

Before the city wakes up for the fun and fair.

 

For today is the beginning of the new year!

 

The confused bleating of the goats as they are eased down their carriage,

They can smell of what lies ahead of them is only a carnage.

 

The eerie sound of the chopper grinding against the sharpener,

Few minutes left for the goats to breathe for the last time before the city goes merrier.

 

The same dawn,

End for some and beginning for the men.

 

*

 

Jay Jagdev | January 10th, 2021

 


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