Dawn, such a private and universal event,

The day dawns,
and on a day like this,
it dawns as if
in a mesh of wires,
like a question mark
barely seen
through the jostling weeds,
like a small eye leering across the thickets on a hill.
Dawn, such a private and universal event,
seeping through the pores of the skin,
like the look of love,
omniscient and unnoticed.
The dawn, hiding in a mist, rolling across the sky and the sea,
and landing on mountain crests,
surreptitiously entering human abodes,
one by one, the stragglers of the night
put out the lights that burnt through the hours of midnight,
shining mysteriously on solitudes in the deserts,
and drawing a curtain on the delusional God
who was awake at night to the howls of wolves and the man.

Sushama Karnik
May 17, 2015