Morning

Black round patterns on the grey pleated curtain
Shadow of its strings dangling on the crumpled tip
A blurry pattern emerges before my eyes
A long yawn escapes my dry lips
The numb arm involuntarily reaches
For the spiral water bottle
Cosily resting on the bedside table
The water slipping down my gullet
Sets my mood to start another day.

I shift awakening my sleepy red blanket
The rooms tranquil feels the stir
The creased pillow still bears my outline
My fingers caressingly trace the imprint
A borderless rectangle arrests my attention
My first visitor has sneaked through the glass window
To draw the four side pattern on my old bed sheet
My painted toes play with the beam.

Slipping out of the cosy brown bed
I stake my claim on the cold blue flip-flops
Closing the door on the comforting snore
My feet move along the familiar corridor
The creamy brown tiles recognise my half yearly contours
And guide my sleepy legs to the sliding window
I stop to stare out at blowing sands
The early morning all to myself.

The odourless morning breeze
Sends tiny particles of sand in my eyes
Something does not seem right
The swaying green branches, empty cold benches
The sprinkling hosepipes, the gigantic dusty cars
The green manicured lawns, the noisy power plant
Everything seems out of place.

My eyes still searching for something
Innate in this vast barren land
This wilderness has something to offer
Except vast sandy stretches of blankness
I step out to touch the flowers
To share their loneliness
Both of us confide our tales of displacement.

I do not belong to this desert
Neither do the flowers nor the trees nor the soil
I enter my world back
I stuck my piece in this uprooted jigsaw puzzle.