The Morning, by Shamsher
There is a lot that the morning today has lost. Like always, people are making their way to the public toilets, tins filled with water in hand. People reached there, like everyday. But the queue that is there otherwise is missing. Everyone recognises its disappearance.
People have not woken up at the time they usually do. And for others, time of the everyday has become a memory in any case. It is not present in today's morning.
Waking eyes are waking to an open sky. People are waking up on heaps of rubble, on top of which they had placed wooden planks to sleep. As they wake up, they also pick up these wooden planks.
Sounds travel rubbing themselves on broken walls and bricks. The handpump moves up and down, gritting at the joints. The laughter of children has not yet risen in the air. Milk from the day before is being put to boil for tea in utensils washed at the handpump. The question, what will happen today, boils in the pan.
People are washing their yesterdays off from their faces, splashing water on it, getting ready for their today. Today the morning is as cooled off and halting as it is usually fast and filled with events. Glances filled with love and creased with sadness move through the people participating in making the environment of the morning. And then, on not finding what they were searching, become breathless and tired, retire under the rubble.
It is a morning never imagined before. It's scents are the dust still rising from the homes now lying around in heaps.
Waking eyes are waking to an open sky. People are waking up on heaps of rubble, on top of which they had placed wooden planks to sleep. As they wake up, they also pick up these wooden planks.
Sounds travel rubbing themselves on broken walls and bricks. The handpump moves up and down, gritting at the joints. The laughter of children has not yet risen in the air. Milk from the day before is being put to boil for tea in utensils washed at the handpump. The question, what will happen today, boils in the pan.
People are washing their yesterdays off from their faces, splashing water on it, getting ready for their today. Today the morning is as cooled off and halting as it is usually fast and filled with events. Glances filled with love and creased with sadness move through the people participating in making the environment of the morning. And then, on not finding what they were searching, become breathless and tired, retire under the rubble.
It is a morning never imagined before. It's scents are the dust still rising from the homes now lying around in heaps.
comments
bedo
@ 01.01.2007 18:37 CESTDear client!
First of all we express to you the gratitude for the trust rendered to the company.
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