Daily,
Birds wake him up,
In the stuffy bedroom,
The failing eyes scan the
Skies for the harbingers of
Dew-dripping morns,
The feathered friends,
Winging their way,
Up-n-down,
Up-n-down,
Like moving lines,
Across the blue space wide,
The happy children of God,
Speaking a language hardly
Understood;
The cheerful symphony,
Punctured by blaring horns,
Of the mad school buses, and
Of the speeding auto-rickshaws and
Pricey bikes;
The harsh sounds,
Jarring on the nerves,
And the ears,
The discordant notes,
To an otherwise
A daily opera
Divine.
