My inner voice is a male Asian Koel,

always unseen, always hidden

in heaps of leafy, nonsense thoughts—


I don’t often get to hear its mellifluous note,

as those gibberish leaves rustle and nod

making me caw, rattle and click—


I cannot be happy with the subsong I make,

with words of hoarse alphabets and voice

while all the while there’s a Koel within me—


I have seen those moonlit moments too,

when within a span of darkness and light

all leaves are still, all alphabets sleep—


peeps the blackish Koel holding in its beak

a rapturous joy I often dream to speak.

Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Voice @ Poets United