A cuckoo calls every morning
hearing her cry incessantly
articulates ” Meena, Meena”
I open my eyes reluctantly,
Unable to bearher cry I shout
“coming,,coming”, gathering myself
I descend the stairs., walk straight
into the garden,
I see through the hedges,
look through the branches
trying desperately to find her
fail to locate however much I attempt.
Her sharp solicitation permeates
I replicate her call, she quickly responds
without showing herself. ” Oh! no!”
I go to my newspapers..
read the day’s events,
pandemonium in the parliament,
head on collision in the highway,
business propositions, investment opportunities
medals tally in Tokyo Olympics,
oblivious of the cuckoo. Folding
the papers, I enter the parlour
the shrill cry of the bird turns pronounced.
It continues through the morning,
listening to her on and off,
amidst my chores, I quietly
sing, ” wish to be like you”.
Meenas Poems 