from a mundane slumber
His sleepy eyes
Scan the walled curtained
Tucks it into his head
It’s not worthwhile
Leaving his bed
To open his window
To the same show.
he heard a tune
a bird’s call
turned a cacophony.
He felt tickled by the buzz.
Rebellious no more
Yielded dollops of light.
In him something stirred.
He couldn’t say what it was
He didn’t see
He just heard.
came to his mind
and to his pleasant surprise
they found a few more
and formed a line
and then more and more
that end of night
without breaking a sweat
by some hidden design
turned a poet.
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Comments about this poem (5 Minutes by Pradip Chattopadhyay )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
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