Wake-Up Call

By Varshitha Chemindla

Everywhere, it's the roosters

One would hear in the morning.

But for us , it's the troop of monkeys --

jumping from building to building,

Echoing drumbeats on the roofing sheets.

From tree to tree,

Swinging back and forth on the canopy,

Cracking twigs.

Finding their way into houses,

unnoticed, in search of grub.

If nothing found --

They feed on the nectar of tropical flowers,

Or munch on jasmine leaves,

then silently disappear by noon,

Only to return by evening.

By Varshitha Chemindla

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