The Promise of the Morning by Kamlesh Acharya

Every morning holds

a promise for me.

That unknown moment,

when I return to myself

and shuffle slightly

in the crumpled bed

as I wake up,

holds

the hope of a better day,

the power of my potential,

the lustre of letting go,

the largesse of love,

the fruit of forgiveness,

and the nectar of newness.

Every morning holds

a choice for me –

a choice of choosing

my freedom.

The morning shows me

the beauty of its promise

in the song of a bud

on the same shrub

that sees the withering

of a fragrant flower,

in the shine of the sun

that dispels darkness,

in the gurgle of a river

that is new every day,

in the flight of a bird

that celebrates a new sky.

And yet I hold on

to what I shouldn’t

and let go of

what I mustn’t.

I doggedly guard the pennies

in my tight fists

as pounds pass me by.

Every morning holds

a promise for me.

A promise that

I don’t keep.