The Frog And The Nightingale

Once, in ages past, a frog,

Croaked away; sitting on a log.

Every night, from dusk to dawn,

He croaked away, on and on.

At first, all around, there was a frown,

But slowly in that repetition,

Mesmerized, they did drown.

Though the creatures, all, loathed his voice,

As he was the only singer, they had no choice.

So, the crass cacophony continued blaring,

From, ‘sermon tree’!

At the whose foot, each night,

The frog installed on,

Till morning light!

Neither stones, nor prayers, nor sticks,

Nor insults, complaints or bricks,

Stilled, the frog's determination,

To display, his heart's elation!

Yet, none other learned how to sing,

Their spirits lifted, by that lone songs wing.

They listened on, to that monotonous song,

And soon their apathy and suffering was long!

Not one, to be different, had willed.

But one night, a nightingale, had filled,

In the moonlight cold and pale,

True divine melody; perched on the Sumar tree,

Withstanding the gale!

Dumbstruck,

Sat, the gaping frog,

And his whole admiring gang,

Including the dog!

While the frog, at heart, cursed,

The creatures listened, with ‘thirst’!

They stared towards the Sumar tree, first,

And then, clapped on, her lyrics well versed!

Ducks had swum and herons waded,

Towards her, as she serenaded.

Toads, eels, even the beasts,

Cheered on as the dusk, into the night, faded!

“BRAVO, DIVINE, ENCORE!”

So the nightingale sang, once more.

Quiet unused to such applause,

She sang till dawn, without pause.

Every night, when she began to sing,

That startling frogs croak did everywhere ring.

“Oh! You frog, was it you who spoke?”

She enquired from the frog?

Who leaped up, with pride, from the mighty log,

“Yes!” the frog replied,” you see

I’m the landlord of this tree,

And in this land,

I’ve long been known,

For my splendid baritone”!

“Did you perchance, like my song?”

“Not too bad, and the melody not wrong”,

The technique was fine, of course!

“Yet, I’d say”,

“Your song did lack a certain force.”

Pleased, the nightingale confessed,

Greatly flattered and impressed,

That a critic of such note,

I had discussed her art and her throat!

“I don’t think the songs divine”,

“But, well at least its mine”,

“Nor do I say it’s hilarious or witty”,

“But it certainly has my identity!’

“That’s nothing to boast about”,

Said the heartless frog- “without,

Training, that I could provide”,

“You’ll remain a mere beginner,

But with me on your side, you’ll be a winner!”

Though, the next morning it was raining,

The frog gave her vocal training.

All of six hours, till she was shivering!

And her voice was coarse and quivering!

Though subdued and sleep-deprived,

In the night, her throat revived,

And the creatures, one after another towed,

Till finally, the Sumar tree bowed!

The Nightingale was flushed and proud,

Ladies with tiaras, glittering!

Sat during the interval, twittering,

And the frog with great precision,

Counted heads, to charge admission!

But day by day, the nightingale,

Grew more sorrowful, and did no more long,

To sing, every night, the same borrowed song.

Slowly she just crept along,

Till all the birds and beasts, grew tired,

To a voice, that did not to her belong.

Soon the Nightingale grew morose,

For her ears were addicted,

To applause, unrestricted!

And to sing alone, all night,

No longer gave her any delight!

Now the frog puffed up with rage,

“Brainless bird you’re on stage!

“Use your wit and follow the fashion”,

“Follow me; puff your lungs like this with passion”

Trembling tired and terrified to fail,

Blind with tears – the Nightingale,

Heard him in silence and tried,

Puffed up, burst a vein, and died.

Said the frog, “I tried to teach her,

But she was a stupid creature”.

“Far too nervous, far too tense”!

“Her tone was putrid, her voice dense”!

And the foghorn: the frog,

Blared once again in the misty fog,

False praise, applause, and cheers, agog,

Once again did he wholeheartedly ‘hog’!

In this minuscule span of life,

So many do, someone, follow,

And give up their identity,

In search of a better tomorrow!

Yet that fleeting search for happiness,

Brings us only to sorrow!