for a place where time takes a breather.
The breaking dawn
announced by shadowy figures at the milk booth.
A morning jog
through paths that lose themselves into the mist.
The bethlehem star
tickled by the wind that carries the muezzin's call,
into a temple sheltering the faithful
as they resume their trek for a glimpse of the Merciful One.
Greeted back home
by woodsmoke merrily conjuring a breakfast.
A shaft of sunlight for company,
through the glass in the tile roof.
In the market
where the menfolk casually flick their wrists
to neatly fold their sarongs at the pelvis;
then go about their chores.
and the fisherwomen
could dispense justice or fish
with the same equanimity.
Reading the papers,
heaving with irony and satire
bemoaning a million lost opportunities
sacrificed at the altar of petulant pride.
and a trip through endless fields and yawning rivers.
Lunch and a snooze go hand in hand here.
More tea and now to the seaside.
A beach nestled
between a roaring sea and a placid backwater.
Building castles in the sand
smiling tourists and long walks.
return to the inky forest
fleeing the sunset.
Dinner and small talk
Hopes and dreams, loves and gossip
Make for a fine dessert.
Sleep is but a pillow toss away.
for an Eden called Kerala.
Next time I'll put the newspaper away.