The morning rush

In the heart of the city, where chaos thrives,
The morning awakens, and the rush arrives.

Sweepers dance with their brooms on the street,
While mothers prepare breakfast, a comforting feat.

The cold breeze whispers, a gentle plea,
"Awake, dear dreamer, the day beckons thee."

"Children, be ready!" calls out with haste,
The bus approaches, no time to waste.

Yet, laughter and dawdling slow their pace,
The bus moves on, leaving an empty space.

A child emerges, fresh from the shower,
But late for the hour—mom’s losing her power.

She turns to her husband, a plea in her eyes,
“Take them to school, I can’t handle the cries.”

He dusts the car, the morning’s grime swept,
The children climb in, half-asleep yet adept.

Through winding streets, where traffic slows,
Fast and careful, the morning goes.

At school’s gate, with a gentle nudge,
He wakes his children, who slept like sludge.

Returning home, the clock’s ticking tight,
The office looms near, the morning’s fight.

Shoes misplaced, a tie astray,
Papers forgotten from yesterday.

Mom steps in, her presence keen,
Finding it all, like a morning routine.

She bids him farewell with a knowing smile,
"Face the day bravely, it’s worth the trial."

Thus begins the day, in chaos and flush,
A tale eternal—the morning rush.

By: Robrayl (AJ)

Writer's note:

The poem vividly portrays the morning rush experienced in every household. It illustrates the diverse struggles of family members, whether rushing off to school, heading to the office, or embarking on other daily tasks."