The drone goes on, ceaseless, careless
Bo…bo…bo…
Thousand of bees sing together
To celebrate the football season
Without variation
Vuvuzela trumpets rage on
To spill over TV screen
To haul gallbladder of viewers
With no view of rescuers nearby
The sky is bent with heavy tune
Sun-burnt dust cries for rain in vain
Cheers of audience fall flat on gallery
Referee’s whistle melts into air
Drum’s eardrums blasted with monotone
Endless lungs echo the infantile drone
Birds flutter quickly to their nest
Ants dropp in their holes to rest
While the ball rolls on green delight
Trumpets take a mindless flight
Life overflows in twilight glows
Gilded carnival turns pale in reckless rhythm
God bless
The shot for goal is lost in African wilderness.
Binoy Barman
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/vuvuzela-trumpets/
