Oye, can you hear me?

posted in: Poem - English | 0

“One evening, streets of a nation, reverberated with the sounds of claps and chimes to thank corona warriors”.

Oye, can you hear me? Oh, that is some lunatic mob sundering
a delectable piece of evening here, in the street, that locals, you
know, the poor people, inserting a period in the normal life of decent

fellas… Metallic? Ah, it could be the clang of utensils and bells ringing
on our terrace and the overlapping terraces. An oldie is pushed inside
a cauldron, her elder son rolls it on, clattering with a metal rod, its

chime you could be hearing as the vibration. Yes, we are fine. We too
utilised this opportunity to make sound. Threw a lot of stones that
ripped the stale air and punched the asbestos sheet roofs, under which

a lot of bastards are born. Haan? Come on, those were decrepit already,
we didn’t do any more damage, Hehe. Yes, we are fine. Bum on sponge,
glued by great episodes going on, gives no chance to roam around, we

have a bountiful fridge proffering groceries, ice, ice pads, our granaries
cram-full. Haan? Ah, that is some thug trying to sneak out to buy food
at this eleventh hour and cops beating his thighs to pulp and his bloody

cry; Lazy rascals. Yes, we are fine. The splash of a loud genre, is a water
cannon winnowing migrant workers, who had seeped out through their
cracks inspired by travel vlogs. The effigies burned were dampened, but

their smoke has trespassed my land, so I cough. Nirbhaya? But there are
garden-fresh Nirbhayas, you pick one and I will talk about it. Hehehe.
Waxed legs light up through torn jeans at night, moths swarming into

them, science, what else! Challenges? Yes, currently two main challenges
we do have in front of us. Paddling a coffee, by fork, by five of us, a four
hundred times, set off by our rosaries, to see a froth coming up, then

keep frothing it up, until it multiplies and falls off from a cup. Then find a
matching belt to tie a pillow to our waists, to make us look like cute big
bow ties and not like filled-to-the-neck gunny bags. It is not as easy as it

sounds. Every tiny thing matters, the height of the whip, the latch of the
belt, the white of our legs, the cleavage above the pillow, everything matters,
especially when it is competing against billions of them. Yes, we’re fine…

Name : Neethu Prasanna
Company Name : UST GLOBAL
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