Irony

Irony

“They do not come, as sweet as they used to, these days.”
Looking at the helpless fleshes of oranges 
produced in green Darjeeling hills, the old man says.

A wind, which have once touched the peaks of north terrain, 
sends a shiver down the trite spine. His relative
comes out on porch, glow bugs swarming; it is nighttime.

The crisscrossing bugs weave the scene akin to those 
seen through childhood kaleidoscopes. It shakes his nerves
to return to technologies. The irony is,
inside, rests an old man; life supported by machines.  
© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar
Copyright © | Year Posted 2009

Poem

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Cantu Avatar
June 29, 2009 at 3:03 PM
Good point; we all every once in a while whine about how things are not as good as they used to be, but the truth is that all technological advance has been pushing us into a good life, yet we need to learn to manage all of it in order to achieve balance; thanks for the experience =D
Al-Riyami Avatar
June 23, 2009 at 6:26 AM
The crisscrossing bugs weave the scene akin to those seen through childhood kaleidoscopes. It shakes his nerves to return to technologies. -->THIS VERSE IS SO FRIGGIN' COOL!O.o Keep On writing Kushal!
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