The morning picture.

The sun had not crawled in.
Little stars were strewn here and there.
The moon was fading away.
The beams of sun pierced the sky gradually.
A kind of coldness pervaded the air.
A chilled breeze was blowing.
I looked furtively from the window sill.
The morning dew on the leaves glimmered.
The falling dews shined.
Like droplets of icelets dripping.
Like the pearls sealed in the shells.
Dews were on the verge to fall.
And get soaked in the richness of the soil.
A new day knocked the door.
Mother was busy with her vessels.
Father getting ready for work.
All mechanically.
Gizmos like.
My endearing sisters?
Still in bed.
Still wandering in the world of slumber.
Lazy bones and fussy.
Mother waking them by her yelling which resonated in the entire house.
Her yelling failed.
They mumbled and slept again.
Father turned a deaf ear.
A slight grin on his face.
He left the house for work.
I miffed by her desperate pleas.
Dear ones
Do not be horrified or astounded.
It is the happening of every morning.
A slice of a usual routine.
The same monotony to bear.
The same burden to load.
Still continue...