NOX

The sun is yet to bid proper goodnight,

but there is already a rush to switch on the light.

We live in a constant stream of beams,

of the bulbs, tubelights and the LED gleams .

In a perennial beam of lights we are swathed,

and so, not just in the sun have we bathed.


A late night flicker of the computer screen,

the floodlit cricket ovals green,

an orange orb of the street ligh’,

the blinding headlamps of the cabbie passing by,

together they for sure will deny,

darkness, to the human eye.


The synthetic light has us blinded to many a wonder,

the darkness in its wings, has taken under.

The sky was once with stars and comets dotted,

like the one Doctor Halley spotted.

The haze, that the city lights ensure,

diminish the twinkling stars’ allure.


When did the last time monsieur,

you enjoy the landscape pure,

without a shimmering patch of blunder,

scattered here and there asunder?

Did not the eerie sense of satisfaction, blanket you at least a fraction,

when the intercity that night you took, crossed a terrain with no luminous interaction?


Have we dismissed the crackling fire,

or is it just the companion of the funeral pyre?

Where have the flickering fireflies vanished,

who once were, for burning candles famished?

Has darkness with all its intricacies gone?

Has it left us all forlorn?


Let the brightness be reduced, let me in peace muse,

or let there be a bottle of booze, and brightness, let the friends infuse!

One Shat Over The Cuckoo's Nest

Unheard, is what it can be called of at best,

the cuckoo, it seems, had bulit her own nest!

The crow saw the cuckoo in glory bask,

furious, he was, because it was all his task.

Humiliating the one, his nest who had occupied,

was an instant decision. All the woe on cuckoo betide.

At loggerheads, they were, every bone and sinew,

but the rivalry, in between them, was nothing new.

Before the birth of you or that of the first Jew,

it was known that friendship between them would never ensue.

The portrait of the world had just been made,

but the crow and the cuckoo were without a shade!

All the colours, they say, had been taken,

but black, a choice of the godforsaken.

A letter to the artist himself, was written,

by the duo, who claimed to be grief stricken!!

Unhappy, in the letter they mention, they were,

and demanded an unbiased attention, from Herr.

Said He, that black is the only colour to spare,

dear crow and dear cuckoo, you will have to share.

Neither was pleased with their particular tan,

and this is where the rivalry began!

Never did to the crow it occur,

that his nest was what cuckoo would conquer.

He knew, the cuckoo, he had to vanquish,

in order to satiate his innate anguish.

The anger did not let the crow contemplate,

so the plan he made wasn't so great.

To see the fallen, cuckoo's crest,

the crow shat over the cockoo's nest!!