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Monkey Cliff

God was struck with Wonderment
As none under His Firmament
Had ever asked for a boon,
Such as wanted by Mr.Loon.

“Evolution, O Lord, I do hail;
But please return me my tail.
For, every time I see a monkey,
I turn green with envy.

Oh, Things I could happily do
If only I had a tail too;
Hang upside down from a tree
And read a book, swinging free!

Hold a cell phone or what I like,
With both hands still on the bike;
Drink coffee, tea or whatever,
Even while holding the newspaper.”

Hearing this from Mr. Loon,
God fell in a great swoon.
When last we heard-
Mr Loon
Is still awaiting his boon,
Hoping God will recover soon.


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As he lay there, wallowing in stale rum and self-pity, know not how long;
The red-eyed monster sprang up suddenly from the brimming liquor;
Gulping down a glass of liquid fire, he roared, “Now! Shoot her now!”
“She deserves no pity- who has let you down so badly.”

Drowning in rum, he attempted to raise his head,
Raising placatory hands to his personal devil,
“Now, now, let us not go there, so afar!
Remember, she used to be my cynosure till week last,
It’s just a pity that she was charmed by someone else.”

“Beware if you show any mercy to that unfaithful wretch!”
Growled the beast, spitting out shards of glass in disgust and adding,
“Be a man, take the sharpest knife and plunge it in her heartless heart.”

He cried out loud and pleaded with folded hands,
“No, no, can’t ever do that, please for Heaven’s sake, go away.”
“Then you leave me with no other option,” sighed the monster,
Stabbing him straight through the heart.

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Loveliness is not all about physical beauty,
It is also
A smile shimmering through tear- stained eyes,
A widening grin ironing out an elder's wrinkles,
A mother's joy seeing her child eating well,
A couple embracing joyfully in reunion,
A calf jumping about in joy around mother cow,
And many more...


Seeing her eyes glow in excitement,
Obviously though she has it all wrong,
I rush to grab the correction opportunity,

Till I have another look at the gleam in her eyes.

Hell, I think, let me be wrong a hundred times over,
If only to preserve that glorious joy,

Rather than prove her wrong
And watch her enthusiasm wither.