Cuckoos- as in voices trained,
Crows- passionate in strength-
Vie to greet me rather early in
the day;
Eyes and mind- ajar alike-
I hear utensils brush against
each other,
Tinkle, as if it was morn at a temple;
Arrhythmic bicycles noisily
rushing
Through the tattered alleyway,
Over bricks exposed from aging
Remind of the tuition classes
That I need no more take,
And they would be late for;
Water gurgling through a jammed
tap
Conch yelling from a distance
Like today is festival, every
day;
A popular Tagore song rings
faintly,
Afloat from an unknown direction,
While the pressure-cooker whistle
Incoherently interferes with
luxuries like art-
Contrasting sounds that make my
town,
Lend it identity- even in blindfold.
No comments:
Post a Comment