Not turning the calendar
The first whistle of milk boiler,
The early bird call in your balcony,
Dawn’s wisdom rooted in rhythms,
tune of sacred Vedas in television,
day to day act designed in her home;
either by its own course ordained,
or willed by human, tuning to seek peace
these go on undisturbed in her
household serene, not a void sure.
Mind’s pure solace for ages ancestors’ crave.
Turning her calendar in its majesty,
tearing off the page or previous pages
with dates and notes , dues and rounds,
her morning’s must and rapturous norm
words beyond expression now.
One day she missed turning calendar,
Her mindset with the same month before,
hence everything was amiss, with all calculus,
booking and train re booking, jubilations
postponed or cancelled against her class.
Not after all a paper, or papers in order.
Your order set by, fingers by command,
Of mind , mood , to have orderly sail,
Violated if you miss your memory the day;
Yes calendars or Seers going before for us.
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