i wake up before the alarm
’cause the birds don’t believe in schedules.
they just sing
like rent’s paid
and peace is permanent.

i stretch my body
like signing a treaty
between my bones and the daylight.

coffee first
’cause prayer without caffeine
is too abstract.

i check the inbox:
yesterday’s emails look back at me
like old regrets
and i tell them, hush,
we’re learning patience today.

outside, the mail truck coughs up
news, bills, and a coupon for
twenty percent off miracles.
i don’t need them
i got faith in clean laundry
and good neighbors.

the kid upstairs is dribbling
a basketball called hope
the rhythm reminds me
that meaning has a beat,
not a footnote.

they say the examined life
takes time
but look, i just found eternity
between two slices of wheat toast.

i butter it slow.
i breathe.
i let the light do its quiet sermon
on the kitchen wall.

no gurus needed
i’ve got the gospel of groceries,
the meditation of morning drives,
the philosophy of ironed sleeves
while rahman sighs on 98.3 fm.

if i ever get famous,
i want it to be
for how i looked at a monday
and smiled anyway.

’cause really,
this simple life,
this ordinary glory,
is already a masterpiece
if you’re awake enough
to sign your name on it.

a note

this pretend poem reads like a cold day in november, and that’s how it came on a sunday morning after that strange borrowed hour we call daylight savings time. between the first filter coffee and the day’s first chores, somehow i was thinking about the examined life, that old socratic phrase that’s followed me for twenty-five years but never once got examined.

it always sounded noble, but hard to live. to examine life, you have to stop it and if you stop it, you’re gone. so maybe the trick is not to stop it, just to stay awake inside it. to see it clearly for a moment, between inboxes and toast. that morning gave me one such moment. i thought if i didn’t catch it, it would slip away like most clarity does. also this time i tried to use the word [’cause] purposefully across the whole verse to create a poetic symmetry.

somewhere, ms subbulakshmi was singing, and the light from the backyard was kind.