The poet and the swan

The poet and the swan

In the wake of the serene dawn
When half of the humanity is still drone,
On the bed, for it is still summer,
A bed coffee, but a bad beginning of the day,
For them both are the same,

The tender sun’s rays gentle and straight
On its commuted unswerving path,
My muse betokens me for a stroll,
I see a swan as pure and white
As un spoilt purity and uncorrupted
Conscience, stone like strong as ever,

The static swan move less as the judge,
Our universal purveyor, God,
Knowing and seeing all, yet giving a nod,
Salmon and the fish bypass by the puddle,
On the sand, the crab plays hide and seek,

I see the swan, the swan too smiles at me,
Questioningly wonders why man should
Drag the unseen, yet all seeing into the
Quagmire of dirty, devilish,
Purloin the spirit of Independence;


Yet, the pond and the sand are the same,
Just give a nod but not to blame.