A BOY CALLED LOON : RHYME 78

There was a boy called Loon in

Mama's neighborhood,

Who habitually did wrongs

And was very crude.

He would use foul words and

Behave vulgarly

And make sundry mischiefs

Daily and nightly.

He read in Mama's school

But was a truant

And moved here and there

Like a vagrant.

With bad older boys, he'd take

Ganja and heroin,

In his tiny belly, he'd guzzle

Litres of wine.

He'd harm animals and birds

And destroy plants,

Over no reason, he'd quarrel

And create disturbance.

A nut, loon, idiot, foul-up...he

Was every bad figure;

Because he was a small boy,

People would endure.

His doting parents were blind

To his wrongful acts

And would brazen it out if

You made complaints.

Because he was their only child,

They'd pamper him,

And provide nourishment to his

Each destructive whim.

Suddenly, one day, Loon fell

Seriously I'll;

Despite all treatments, his

Illness wouldn't heal.

And he died in hospital after

A long suffering;

Many years has past, his parents

Are still crying.

- N P SAMAL

Comments

I DO CRY : SONNET 59

I cry, I do cry breathless like a baby. You notice me or not but I do cry -- Whole drown'd in tears -- be it night or day it be -- No care if you find me absurd and wry. But I can't be unfair to cry, or vague If crying can protect me from strokes of death That nothing else on earth can, though I beg With my bowl'd palms held heavenward in good faith. Yes, I do cry (Whoe’er on earth will not With the betrayer's dagger stabb'd in heart?), But know my tears will flow all through the drought And grow new plants of love ere life does part. Maybe to kill the fatal pain the heart bears, Come out generously life-giving tears. -- N. P. SAMAL

TELL ME NOT

Tell Me Not Tell me not I was once a lad; An open sky that I once had, That offered me untold delight And lit my spirit day and night. Remind me not the days and nights That told me tales and flew my kites; Many a game that I did play With heart and soul unleashed and gay. Jog not my memory I once sailed Alone for miles and there beheld On either side, along the inlet, Many a willow and flowery thicket. Bring me not back the rights all lost, All things that came by free of cost; Affection, love, all poured on me, Even when I was wilful, naughty. I'm in my time, leave me to suffer From weakness, bloating, bugs, whatever: Let me be in my dying yard; But tell not I was once a lad. -- N P Samal

THE RETURN : RHYME 100

Infants gambol about their home With blooms and toys, But they return to mom's bosom For the real joys. Children frolic about the streams, In meads and hedges, But to their home they return for Their real flowerage. Youths do rush about crazy for World's whole treasure, But they return for real living To own life and career. Adults get sunk into the labour With dedication, But this's the return to raise well Their own children. The old trudge about the yard Of their nursing shed, But lastly they return for rest To their death bed. -- N. P. SAMAL

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