Rhymes Unheard Poem by Lalip Nanda

Hasty were my steps,
And sweaty were my brows.
Late for my supper,
Suddenly, flew past a crow.

Half past eleven,
Had to work hard.
Tired as hell,
Had to cross the Lincoln Boulevard.

Not the first time,
I had been late.
Heard the haunted stories,
Of Lincoln the poet.

He was a good man, they said,
Terribly misunderstood.
Wrote on what he saw,
And rode a stead with his hood.

Clean from his heart,
He feared none.
Wrote about the king,
And the wrong he had done.

Tyrant, the king,
Disciple of Satan.
Buried him alive,
Afraid his secrets must not reopen.

Ever since he wanders,
Has the boulevard to his own.
Sings and curses the king,
With the road as hi home.

All of sudden, like a broken dream,
I hear a distant hymn.
Don’t know whether its real,
Like a toddler I scream.

Felt the voice growing,
As the fear inside me.
Looked towards the heaven and,
Saw Lincoln, on a tree cowering! !

“bad king … bad king”, he sobbed,
Loathing in anger.
“bad king … bad king” he sobbed,
And came closer.

Then I fainted, out of fright,
Unknown of my plight.
His hands around my neck,
Strangling me tight.

I wake up, seems like ages have passed,
And I am still in the boulevard.
Its half past eleven,
Tired of working so hard.

“bad king … bad king”, I mumble,
And found myself stronger.
“bad king … bad king” I sob,
And with my master I wander.

-LALIP NANDA