Cuckooing Poem by RUPALI SAINI

Hey, Cuckoo...Kuku is my name,
Inebriated both we, the crazy same.

When you sing unabating & go graded,
I catch your pain, unleashing heart-bladed.

People relish your sweet voice,
Nobody listens the inner noise.

Yea, we're mad; destined misconstrued,
Never fit into the rational agentic hood.

See, how forlorn, scripted we are!
Ever bouncing in this rhyming bar.

We are cognized that free verse is vogue,
Woe We! ..designed in a cryptic ideologue.

Geez! We too have Philomele agency,
Can screech...but all in despondency.

Automated folks listen and rejoice,
Fail to discern the mourning poise.

The day when our-stitch-tapestry be found,
Will discharge us from this rhythmic bound.

We will be verse- Free; meant to be understood,
A day...
When real cuckooing would no more be withstood.