The breaking of dawn

The prompt of worship

The sound of morning

The clatter of dishes

The grumble and moans of the Rickshaw

The creeks and crooks of the turnstile

The whimpers of the microphone

The clink and clunk of the beam and coil

The grind of thousands of feet

The bong of the bell

The giggles of her and me

The screech of the hellion in front

The hiss of the stain

The clomp of the text

The clash of equipment

The murmur of friends

The zip of the passed notes

The tweet of birds

The whoosh of the trees

The purr of the sprinkles

The clatter of freedom

The thud and the thump of hurdlers

The cheers of joy

The munch and the grunch of the crispy food

The complaining shouts of the cook

The laughter of the bartender

The swoosh of air

The coldness of the shadow on the swing

The smack of the gong

The hushed silence

The sad whimpers

The sad descending

The lazy trots

The end of midday

The snoring of the tired

The clomp of the text

The clash of equipment

The screech of the hellion in front

And then the bong of the bell and it all starts again

’till we see the familiar faces of our friendly drivers

And we reach our house

And I drop dead on the soft piece of a dream