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September 2017, vol 13 no 3

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Shobhana Kumar

Post-it Notes

lost in thought a kite circles an empty plot

5 a.m. There’s a nip in the air and frost has settled on the windscreens of the cars. Temple bells race the alarm clock and there’s no way to snooze them. After five relentless minutes, my body finally listens to reason: there’s far too much to do.

late sunrise
every cloud bursts
with promise

Some houses away, the strains of music come alive. It’s like going back several decades. The aroma of sweet rice wafts into memory. My feet curl into the soft fleece blanket and I slowly slip into a land of no to-do lists.

mirror-like the cat before she snuggles


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