by Shamik Banerjee 

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Far, mid the mountain slopes, rises the sun

and the Pipit, hints the day has begun.

The ocean’s face, welcomes the sky in blue

and tunes appear from the nest of Cuckoo.

In pots with readiness, the new flowers,

twirl with glee towards the gleamy showers;

and churls with fine mowers, to fields advance

whilst titches and yokels, still yawn in trance.

The Canary, next to the maiden cheeps-

her infant, from its tiny billet weeps;

and each, ’bout the garden, salutes and cheers–

the cygnet by the pond and lad by his peers—

all in onehead with mortal eyes enjoy,

as immortal be such morning of joy!

‎

© Shamik Banerjee 

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Shamik Banerjee is a poet and poetry reviewer from the North-Eastern belt of India. He loves taking long strolls and spending time with his family. His deep affection with solitude meddles well with poetry to provide him an ageless harbourage of happiness. He runs a poetry journal called the Rill and Grove. He aims to contribute immensely to the world of poetry.

You can find him on Instagram at @where_tales_end.

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