Poetry

Early morning, even before sunrise
I hear the birds sing, some of them cry
or sit chattering
feeding in the berry-trees
while in the distance neighbours
open gates, talk and greet, drive off in cars
with lights sneaking past
and dogs barking their goodbyes.
 
A little later the black-collard barbet
or some green weavers
knock on my windowpanes
seeing themselves mirrored
while the sun throws
pink, orange and orange-red rays
and the freshness of the new day
breezes in through the open window.
 
In time the heavy curtains will become light
and the darkness in the room
will be disappearing turning to its own dusk
and outside the day will be bright
fulfilling the promise of a new day.