Treasure Island

Suman Kumar Das


Cuckoo


May every morn be spring morn!
Coos the cuckoo at every dawn.
Yon, smell of young mango buds,
Blowing from green woods.
On the terrace corner,
A thrilling voice starts to murmur,
Awaking me from deep slumber.

I know not its theme,
Nor I know rhythm.
Still, how sweet strain!
With total ignorance of pain.
Soars she gaily in the sky,
Seldom appears in shy.
Shall I hear till I die!

Submitted: Tuesday, November 05, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, November 06, 2013

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