The Poor King
It's a feeling to resume the blog, an activity that had to be left on the back burner to accommodate other chores. I've seen my scores sliding drastically and alerts from indiblogger.in pouring into my inbox, but I was undone. My next book was to be pushed ahead in the drafting phase and I'm glad that it has nearly reached its finishing line. So it's time to show up in the blogosphere, read contents, browse and browse.
Ventured the farthest possible
For its tiny feather
Into the sky, away from the shore
In quest of day's grub,
The poor Kingfisher.
Its luck had it this way,
Returned it to the dried branch
Of the lonely mangrove, its serai of hope
At the end of the day,
The tired Kingfisher
Sat pensive, brooding over his miss
A hero with a setback, all its guts scrambled
To hazard another bid,
Before the nightfall.
While lamenting the catch
That escaped from its grip
The evening star in the sky, began to wink
Parodying its saga heroic,
It was time to give up.
At a distant corner
Lay a corpse of a tiny fish
The fisherman's leftovers, for a sordid scavenger
Before the hungry Kingfisher.
To gulp or not to
The dead fish?
The rotten fish? And without catching it?
It was not a regal way to consider
For its excellency-the Kingfisher.
''The king can do no wrong''
He can't even sing a song
In the public, for his mental peace
He is a beast of burden
Voluntary and honorary.
Born to bear the dead weight
With no grumble nor protest
The vestige of the past, the tyranny of present
He should carry on and on unfed
Like my lovely, hungry Kingfisher.
FIRST COMPOSED – DECEMBER 07, I995
A. N. Nanda
Labels: In Harness: my old poems