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)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(22 August 1893 - 7 June 1967)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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