but of course, here i am. <br />it is 4: 25 in the morning. <br />i wake up earlier than <br />i expected. there is no sense wriggling <br />on the bed that no longer feels my yearning for sleep. <br />i rise. <br />i open the computer. i hear its buzzing sound. No problem i am <br />willing to write about nothing <br />nothing at all. call it emptiness. call it weariness. on a very early <br />morning. but it does not matter at all. this is this. this is it. <br />this is what i am. just going. just coming. just writing. <br />whatever. <br /> <br />outside the rooster keeps its announcement <br />of a promising morning. the hens are laying their eggs. <br />some steps of strangers pass by. sagging footsteps <br />for an early work to do. opening doors of their stores. <br />dusting, cleaning, baking the bread. displaying wares. <br />the salesgirl still yawning on an unwashed face. <br />the dog wakes up and wags its tail on my side. <br />as i write. <br /> <br />my life begins to unfold. it is another poem. another story. <br />written and kept. there is nothing more important to do anyway. <br /> <br />you look for a rhyme. You do not find it here. Go somewhere. <br />That poet over there, the one with the color of dusk <br />keeps some. Talk to him. Meanwhile, I am through. <br />No promises again this time.<br /><br />RIC S. BASTASA<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-promised-not-to-wake-up-early-and-write-again/
