Me, in my morning rush hour

cook scrub and clean

a nightingale amidst a concrete jungle

screams and orders me to stop

to listen to her melody

'stop your chores,spare me your ear

i thought you missed me'

my ties with the nightingale

began when i lost mine

its melancholic tune chided me, irritated me

for i wished to enjoy nothing

as i lay grieving for my princess

days passed , years passed

i started seeing my princess in the nightingale

whenever i herd its melody

i felt as my princess was visiting me

as i changed houses

i thought i lost my visitor

the sharp sound of the nightingale

seemed to be angry with me

it seemed to complain

' you have forgotten me !'

no hardly ever

my wound of losing my princess is as raw as it was

and your tune as melancholic as always

Ratnaprabha r raykar