Buzz of the merry bees
And the song of bamboo trees.
In the ceramic pond carps swim.
Native grasses whisper something
about the mysterious Earth.
Chum! I compose my song on a paper serviette.
This is not my home and I sleep in the kitchen.
I wake up early in the morning to the Master's snoring
When the kettle whistles I make the magical tea for my bachelor architect playboy boss who praises my strange cup of tea otherwise I could have thrown away a long ago to the faraway ditch.
* I dreamed yesterday Van Gogh who gave me a canvas and forced to draw him nude.
Surreal certainly. And I agree with Linda. The last line is perfect. Kind regards, Sandra
Dream or not, there are rumblings of discontent going on here. Few words, yet much is said between the lines. I especially love the last line - perfect! Linda :)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The reader feels the pain behind the irony. Class is such a constant and unfair fact of life in our sad and sorry world. Your beautiful description of nature in the first four lines makes the perfect backdropp for the meat of the poem. I could read a hundred poems and always recognize yours, Nimal. Such is your originality. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥