Come spring and you can hear anew
The mellifluous lilt of the cuckoo,
A persistent voice of compassion true
Against the roar of buses passing through.
The Muezzin on his way to the mosque hears
the crystal tones of the songbird clear,
Filled with hope, he clears his throat to pierce
with words of God, a morning sere.
The man of God rises with the sun in the east,
He is a rabbi, a saint, an imam, no, a priest.
Alike they hear the words of love,
Serve all, and your heart will be white as the dove.
Having infused its words ever so gently,
The cuckoo flies toward the artery of the city.
Skyline pierced by mountains of concrete,
Neither heart nor soul, darkness complete.
A vast machine, each human an enslaved cog,
Reduced to monotony, blinded by the fog
of myopia, unwilling to break routine,
and revert to lives unhurried, pristine.
A swarthy laborer opens his mouth to curse,
"Providence and fortune, all are a farce!"
And when the cuckoo sings, its as if a drop of elixir,
Slides down his throat, raises him from his nadir.
Laborer, landlord priest, all throng,
To hear the cuckoo's melodious song
The tone clears conscience and gives them hope,
A voice unclouded by opium and dope.
But once it flies away, life returns,
to its corrupt normalcy, with its twists and turns,
The priest returns to his amoral life,
The laborer, to his adulterous wife.
I, the observer, will speak, so take heed, pray
The cuckoo may leave, but its song shall stay.
It is up to you to remember or forget,
One more good word, out of millions we get.
Lead a life, hardworking and true,
Be faithful to your lover, dont ever have two.
Live today, think tomorrow, learn from the past
And you will be revered, as long as you last.
The mellifluous lilt of the cuckoo,
A persistent voice of compassion true
Against the roar of buses passing through.
The Muezzin on his way to the mosque hears
the crystal tones of the songbird clear,
Filled with hope, he clears his throat to pierce
with words of God, a morning sere.
The man of God rises with the sun in the east,
He is a rabbi, a saint, an imam, no, a priest.
Alike they hear the words of love,
Serve all, and your heart will be white as the dove.
Having infused its words ever so gently,
The cuckoo flies toward the artery of the city.
Skyline pierced by mountains of concrete,
Neither heart nor soul, darkness complete.
A vast machine, each human an enslaved cog,
Reduced to monotony, blinded by the fog
of myopia, unwilling to break routine,
and revert to lives unhurried, pristine.
A swarthy laborer opens his mouth to curse,
"Providence and fortune, all are a farce!"
And when the cuckoo sings, its as if a drop of elixir,
Slides down his throat, raises him from his nadir.
Laborer, landlord priest, all throng,
To hear the cuckoo's melodious song
The tone clears conscience and gives them hope,
A voice unclouded by opium and dope.
But once it flies away, life returns,
to its corrupt normalcy, with its twists and turns,
The priest returns to his amoral life,
The laborer, to his adulterous wife.
I, the observer, will speak, so take heed, pray
The cuckoo may leave, but its song shall stay.
It is up to you to remember or forget,
One more good word, out of millions we get.
Lead a life, hardworking and true,
Be faithful to your lover, dont ever have two.
Live today, think tomorrow, learn from the past
And you will be revered, as long as you last.
4 comments:
good one..especially the 'words of wisdom'..btw how do u get time during these vivas n all for writin such nice ones??
well...THATS a tough one :-)
i was studying for AWP 3 days back...woke up at 4 or something as usual. There is a cuckoo that has confiscated a crows nest, bang outside my groundfloor flat. It starts cooing around 430...
This morning, when it began its routine, my half dazed mind began to drift, and well, i got a poem...
initially i was planning to write a poem cursing it, cos its been a nuisance every morning. Then i thot, well, why hurl imprecations? LOL...
And then came the poem...obviously.
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