This little poem is a shout-out to our silent early morning walks to Neyyar Dam.

One hundred and seventy of us yoga students would rise before dawn and make our way up the hill, down the hill, over the splashing dam, and around the western edge of the reflecting lake.

Crickets chirped, and tiny fish leapt out of the water. The palm trees overhead were lush, heavy, and alive, watching us wake up.

We would eventually make our way to the long stone wall that curved around the quiet water. There, we would roll out our mats and look up, watching as dawn crept into the sky. 

Eventually, our meditation was broken by the sound of singing and drums, tambourines and clapping. Our mornings always began with music.

And here, a poem inspired by those mornings.


The crescent moon
A sliver of silver
In the blushing dawn sky

Birds chirp in the trees
And mythical alligators
Swim beneath still lake waters

In the jungle
An invisible saint
Walks barefoot through the trees

The sun rises
Stroking the sky
Creating the soft pink morning

Someone picks up a drum
And then a tambourine
Suddenly the morning is filled with music



2 Responses to Sunrise

  1. Debbie says:

    Somehow, between the last time I read your work and this time, you have become a writer. I lingered over your words like one swirls goood wine in the mouth before letting it slide down. Congratulations. You have learned the value of each word, whether consciously or not. I’m so happy for you.

  2. sheila says:

    I agree 100%!

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