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SINGLE POETIC STORY : IF THE NIGHT COULD TALK (PART 11)

BY: Jacintha Morris | Category: Others | Submitted: 2012-07-10 09:11:35
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Article Summary: "Second half of the poetic story describing how 28 characters of people spend their night and the imagination of the poet as to the various emotions the night feels.."


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If the night could talk,
Grateful it would be,
To the medical practitioners,
Devoted hospital nurses sleepless-
Render tender loving care.

Fair to say, life savers are they,
Though fatal accident victims die,
And shock-hit bystanders cry,
Fearless and strong they grow,
Not a trace of fatigue show,
They give courage, timely aid,
Medical care in flair.
Presence indeed-
An answered prayer.

If the night could talk,
It would have sympathized,
Strongly emphasized,
How restless farmers are,
The sons of the soil,
Carving the earth by toil,
Blessing to all.

Wide awake each lay,
Thoughtful throughout night,
Staring dark night sky.
"Can I clear the loan
With yield of seeds sown?
Will the rain stand by me?
The sun rays follow me."

"Will the pests gobble crop
Market price stride drop?
Will the global trade hinder
My own produce further?"
How Disturbing thoughts!
Oh, Nature's fond pets!

If the night could talk,
It would have boasted lot,
About the teachers,
Who impart knowledge
To growing generation.
Strain of vocal cord,
Pain of femur bone,
To mould best students,
To civilize nation.

When exam time is near
They train students
Not to fear,
Again and again they clear
Entire doubts that clouds.
Throughout night they pray,
For all the students in care.
"Teacher" the real God of school,
Chisels off edges, a moral tool.

If the night could talk,
It could have revealed,
The bitter truth concealed,
About the flesh-traders,
Who convert the night
Into day to alight.
To earn bread,
Wrong path they tread.

They were not born as prostitutes,
They don't wish to be,
Poverty made them sell,
Burn flesh as in hell.
Deception of friends,
Clad in sheep skin.
Greed for fame,
Through media gain.
Some brutally forced,
By perverts and masters
Pretty old.
Oh! Women in doom, cannot bloom.

If the night could talk,
How inspiring it would be,
About the poets and writers,
On a soothing night.
They gaze at the dark sky,
In tranquility,
Their heart fly high,
Where all dimensions lie,
The bliss they derive,
So eternal, oh, so glorious!

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