I was planning to fist fog in my palm
Its downy bedding on a stubble surface
Intrigued me to catch, got exasperated
We found someday its sulky face, declined
We retired to bed but the fog came in a shaft
Before sunlight fog remained thicker
Before I got up it broke the muteness with
People hurtling for daily duty of livelihood
It did not speak to the so-called elite
They were late riser with sleep as a lazy bum
Imperceptible; they wouldn’t realize
They were on duvetting pleasure, earthy
Life on cloud nine! why should they?
Masses were singular, unnerving, spurring
They knew their kismet well before dawn
They had to speak to fogs for road clearance
They left, leaving behind the kid in disarray
Who else was there to take care of them?
Nature’s kindness and clement weather?