Stray Morning

Now that I have drank coffee,
I seem to be fully awake,
and morning is still happening,
bringing in the monotony in my part of the city –

young boys roaring on motorbikes,
men and women at the temple,
grocer’s cart,
and flower shops;
girls from the aviation institute in their mini-skirts,
showing their beautiful legs and thighs –
bearing the cold gracefully.

I stay indoors
within four walls
under thin bedsheets spread on the floor,
a dusty and oily typewriter,
pages here, pages there,
ashtrays chokingly filled
with the butts of cheap cigarettes,
an empty bottle of coke,
and an empty full-bottle of whisky
standing in the corner.

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