Before the morning (Poem)

Image by André Santana AndreMS from Pixabay

At 3 A.M.
a quiet pissy feeling,
woke me up or,
a thirsty throat.

At 3 A.M.
the wormholes of the universe,
were wide open,
no one was there to melt into it,
no, not even the gods,
for they were too busy,
in auditing the spreadsheet of,
vices and virtues.

At 3 A.M.
productivity games of man,
did not start, yet —
the air was still not,
wet the sweat of joggers.
the birds, the dogs, the cats,
the coffee cups, the babies,
and the karma has not woken up,
yet —
and were still in their erstwhile positions,
like a spartan army, disciplined and tamed.
but the cockroaches were moving.
The nothingness of 3 A.M.
was blissful, not yet intruded,
by mechanical and robotic 5 A.M.’s,
of the man.

3 A.M.
it’s the time,
you are utterly alone with the stars,
and the darkness,
in a state of true living.
the only moment,
I hear the time,
slipping by.
only the watcher remains,
with no mind,
to explore the geometries.

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