good morning

Every dawn, Kavya brewed strong filter coffee while reciting Kambar's verses aloud. Her grandmother taught her these Tamil poems decades ago, words that seemed to earn their place through generations. She'd whisper the ancient syllables, feeling their warmth against morning's chill. Today felt different. Her poetry blog had gained followers overnight, each comment a quiet recognition. "Sksksksk," they wrote, laughing with her cleverness. She smiled, knowing this moment—where old traditions met new platforms—was well played by something greater. Her daughter appeared, half-asleep, and sat beside her. Kavya recited a verse. The child listened, absorbing everything. Some devotions transcend time.