Feeble Flute
This humble musician so sad,
got upset of being always trodden
by the swaggy salvo of neglect.
He tried to impress people by his music,
but its timid tune reached nowhere,
dissipated unheard in the thin air.
He once listened to the call of his soul,
wanted to be heard loud and bold,
so got a trumpet from cacophonous market.
On a moonshine night when people slept,
he tried but couldn’t blow his trumpet,
for it turned into a feeble flute.
August 30, 2019
Copyright © Subimal Sinha-Roy | Year Posted 2019
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment