My mom's house is right amid so many wonderful neighbors who are always there to wake me up....:)
Rush on!
Your break fast is ready,
Its mince for the pup and milk for the catty"
When whispered by such hearings
I got up one morning,
And from the window down
I peeped & found my neighbor aunt
Amid the tall trimmed green trees of the grey street
Serving her...yes!
Not kids,
But pups and kitties in their bowls and kits
In her very Russian-Afghani accent
With yellow hair and mellow glare
HA.....
I lay again to catch a bit more z'eeee
But before I could---
I heard a kind of boisterous shriek
When the pop songster straight in front
Of my window in his own messy room
Couldn't desist his music mania within,
And let his fingers dance on his guitar's strings
The fusion of harmonies crossing no-bounds
Reached my sluggish vigilance.
Any ways the mulish moi went yet again
Unless the dowdy milkman came
Destroying the last chance to have a doze---
But to no gain!
His braying voice announcing his arrival,
Almost cleared residues of my ear vax
As, Summoning...
"GOOD MORNING""
Now don't give tortures to your bed
---leave and be up for the work—
Clang –clang---clang...
His milk utensils sounded
And finally poked me
To wash my dreamy being for the new day
So guys!
These are the beauties of my mom's place.
Poetry by Amna Ehsan
Read 796 times
Written on 2008-09-16 at 10:27
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
The mornings at my Mom's home
Poppy, snoopy Diana, chimpooRush on!
Your break fast is ready,
Its mince for the pup and milk for the catty"
When whispered by such hearings
I got up one morning,
And from the window down
I peeped & found my neighbor aunt
Amid the tall trimmed green trees of the grey street
Serving her...yes!
Not kids,
But pups and kitties in their bowls and kits
In her very Russian-Afghani accent
With yellow hair and mellow glare
HA.....
I lay again to catch a bit more z'eeee
But before I could---
I heard a kind of boisterous shriek
When the pop songster straight in front
Of my window in his own messy room
Couldn't desist his music mania within,
And let his fingers dance on his guitar's strings
The fusion of harmonies crossing no-bounds
Reached my sluggish vigilance.
Any ways the mulish moi went yet again
Unless the dowdy milkman came
Destroying the last chance to have a doze---
But to no gain!
His braying voice announcing his arrival,
Almost cleared residues of my ear vax
As, Summoning...
"GOOD MORNING""
Now don't give tortures to your bed
---leave and be up for the work—
Clang –clang---clang...
His milk utensils sounded
And finally poked me
To wash my dreamy being for the new day
So guys!
These are the beauties of my mom's place.
Poetry by Amna Ehsan
Read 796 times
Written on 2008-09-16 at 10:27
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
