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the freshest air under caring wings of the sky
04:56 a.m. sunrise
poetry is reincarnating itself

the hour of travellers
who break through the morning silence
birdsong is redundant
for they can see their path clearly without it

the hour of deliveries
before the city opens its eyes, it needs supplying
delivery trucks unload their sorrows
straight in to the open doors, greeted by emptiness

the hour of Presence
Sun takes plenty of space in awareness
undisturbed by nuances of the day
yet

The hour in which I feel alive, light, even though weary, 4 hours of sleep last night open my eyes wider, and so I can see — all that which keeps moving under the caring wings of the sky.

Written by

What if you stopped treating your ego as the enemy and befriended it instead? To find out, read my new book, Ego-Friendly: https://gumroad.com/l/ego-friendly

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