Skip to main content

My Funny Ear

Friends, Romans, Countrymen,
Lend me your ears.
A goblin has dredged a crevice in mine,
Which pretty little pixies traverse to mine.

Cats in pyjamas of summer polkas and stripes,
Flat-bottomed, egg-bottomed, blown round and wide,
They're minding their business, you'd be happy to hear,
I'd be too, if it weren't in my ear.

Frogs and dormice in attire to commend,
A mish-mash of retro and the current trend,
So if you hear a splash, or a splosh or a squash
Or a crunch or the slurp of crimson squid-broth,
My dear, didn't they teach you, it's stark rude to peer,
Into the depths, well, of a not-so-ordinary ear.

Witches and wizards and angels and fairies,
They won't be dancing to samba at Prairies,
They've all just made bed -and turned on the light,
And I'll tell you where, for ask you well might,
A glimpse of my head, and a glance left and right,
That's just bulbs of argon with a slight ignite.

Granny and Grandpa are going gaga,
They're hell-bent on having a snoring saga,
So if you hear a grunt, and then a detach,
It's me your eyes are going to catch,
But I'd like to make a few things clear,
There's a malicious malfunction inside my ear.

And now, for desert, for desert is sweetest,
My elvish ears have stood the BIG test,
My splendid guests have had a splendid time,
And for the gift they've given me I'd call it no crime!
For I'd prefer a teddy-bear-hug to routine mug,
 And if you second that with a nod and not a shrug,
My ears are all open for you to conjure,
Whenever the teacher makes you snore.



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

(How I Wish) People Were Like Poems

Today, I wish people were more like poems.  A sad truth is dawning on me.  I can't just be. Most things just are. No proof required. No justification. Here I feel like an instance Of a class. Some kind of template  With some methods Instantiated. Many of my methods are public. Others comment on them. If I encapsulate, They pry. If I am abstract, They talk. What's going on? I'm not going to plead any more. I'll just shut all the doors. Make all the methods and variables private. Too many people tampering with the balance of it all. Our lives are not portraits or leaflets to hand out. Media often makes us feel so, but existence is way older, Authentic and organic- than the glitzy hood of social media. Human beings, like plants, need space, nourishment and nurturing To thrive. Are plants dependent on these things? Can they not stand on their own roots? They can, and they do. But you cannot neglect  The environmental variables that make them happen. So don't comment on ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Predictability Plays Spoilsport

"Comfort's journey from the familiar to the unpredictable..." In the age of AI, if you are an AI Engineer like I am, you would swear by predictability. It's indispensable. We will find patterns in your genetic tree. We'll find them even in your whim of a Gulab Jamun or Barfi. We'll try to connect dots that are distant by miles. Yet, I'm here to tell you that we cannot afford predictability today. Sounds crazy and totally contradictory right? But I can be weird.   I'm here to tell you about randomness. I want you to experience it too. Well, you're smart people, readers. I may not be as smart. You know why we can't enforce patterns.   Someone will read them. Someone will exploit them.  Someone will feed them to an AI (Tool) and figure out what to do with them. You see what I mean? I'm being random. Randomness is not entirely useless.  I want to be equally random. I am stupid, gullible, naive and I'm wandering... You can say that I can be ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Clandestine

Sometimes we wait too long, To speak our minds. We let lingering truths linger, We let sporadic clocks, chime.. We allow patient seams to fritter away Like a sparrow does with the timber of the tune That she was shrouded by; shrill words tearing  Ears, each word she utters, careful, today. While the first day it was a free reign, until Some unctuous winds carried to her, criticism. Just the same way as copper utensils in a house Of steel, are anyone's delight, until bronzed,  With wear and use, both are the victims Of sundry needs and glances. Just the same way, some things, Are stowed away in careful pockets Because they have borne a lot of perusing When kept in the open.  Like love. Like hurt. Like envy. Like silence. Trust and truth are two things I can list, That are given, that are l'habitude. I tell the truth because it is, it exists, It is what I perceive, it is what I've lived.. And I keep your trust, because I've learnt That it'll help you keep mine, it wil...
Post a Comment
Read more