Sunday

The finger is pointed to a new flower in balcony and thence to a rainless cloud ,a sprouting sun. A translucent blue defers to the low-rise gold in the blankest sky ever eaten by pearly clouds .The wind plays mischief with yesterday’s flower and flower promptly drops from a helpless mother.

All this while the sun would arise slowly on the lazy Sun’s day from under his sleeping blanket of thick and silky cotton rolls of rainless cloud. Sunday is his own day,not another son-of-a-gun’s.

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