Morning keeps arriving in pieces.
 A pale seam opens the sky,
 a kettle learns to sing,
 the sparrow rehearses one clear note.

I set the table for the ordinary:
 bread, a cup, names I have yet to learn.
 Let gratitude be a small tool,
 like a needle mending a torn sleeve.

I whisper for patience
 where the street is loud with hurry.
 I ask to be taught by simple things,
 water in a glass, the soft discipline of light.

For those who woke in grief,
 may the day place a hand on their shoulder.
 For those who woke in anger,
 may the day come like rain upon stone.

Let us be apprentices to breath:
 In and out, the tide we share.
 If these bodies are all we are given,
 let them open toward one another.

I do not ask the world to be perfect.
 Only that we keep making a room
 wide enough for the wind,
 and for what we get wrong.

When evening breaks the loaf of gold
 and passes it, piece by piece, to night,
 may what we could not finish
 wait for us like a quiet task,

and may we return to it tomorrow
 with clean hands,
 with the courage to begin again,
 and the small, steady prayers we carry.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Amitabh Vikram Dwivedi

Amitabh Vikram teaches at Shri Mata Vaishno Devi University, Jammu & Kashmir, India. His work spans language documentation, descriptive grammar, South Asian languages, endangered and minority cultures, literary studies, academic writing, public speaking, and knowledge preservation. He has published books, edited volumes, encyclopedia entries, chapters, and indexed journal articles.

Editorial Note

This poem was striking for its imagery and for the simplicity of the prayers. The choice of the rain lily image was inspired by the Mother’s naming of the flower as a symbol of prayer.