The City's Symphony of Morning Commutes

A tremor stirs, before the sun ascends, 

As early light, across the asphalt sends 

The first soft rumble, from the waking street, 

A rhythmic stirring, both profound and sweet. 

I am the Symphony, of morning's hurried grace, 

A cacophony of purpose, in this vibrant place. 

The distant hum of engines, gathering slow, 

The bicycle bells, like silver whispers, flow.

The train's deep whistle, piercing through the gray, 

Announcing movement, greeting the new day. 

The hurried footsteps, pattering on the ground, 

A thousand rhythms, making silent sound. 

Car horns, a brass section, sharp and keen, 

Expressing urgency, across the scene. 

The bus's sighing brakes, a bass note, deep and slow, 

As human cargo, to their futures go. 

A blend of chaos, merging into art, 

The city's heartbeat, playing its first part.

Each separate sound, a note within the whole, 

Creating purpose, for the driven soul. 

The distant siren, a rising, urgent plea, 

A counterpoint, for all the world to see. 

From gentle stirring, to a vibrant roar, 

The morning commute, knocking at the door. 

A rhythmic pulse, both frantic and so grand, 

The waking city, across the bustling land. 

A masterpiece of movement, strong and true, 

The symphony of millions, endlessly anew.

- Khushi Kaul