A Poem on a poem on a goat Apoorva Khare ( Class X, 5/March/1995 : 0630 - 0830 ) One fine sunny spring day I wrote A very long poem about a goat. An autobiography, rather, I should say Anyhow, I had spent all the day So then I showed it to my sister because I wanted to ask her how it was. "Are you a goat ?" was the first thing she said. I said, "What queer notions you've got in your head ! This poem is of an emotional nature Starting with the central legislature Whose bills i.e. laws protected the cow And the killing of the pig, but still, till now Probably for the goat they don't have much attraction It's only the mutton that gives them satisfaction." Anyhow, she was standing, so she proceeded to sit. The only one to do so, she read all of it. Well, I expected some crying on her part As among us she has the most emotional heart. So I was stunned at what followed thereafter - She let out peals of rich, loud laughter. I asked, "What are you laughing about ?" She said "It's the one thing I can't do without. Your poem is very humorous and entertaining As I read more and more, the humour was gaining. The further one proceeds, the more it becomes strong And, of course, it is far too long." "You mean it's amusing to you ?" I did hark, Ignoring completely her second remark. "I thought that it was greatly pathetic To it, you should have been more sympathetic. I fail to see any sadness it lacks When the goat was chased by the man with the axe And also when it finally died in the butcher's shop." "All the same, it's long, and will be a mega-flop." Having failed once, I still had determination To display to my family my heart's elation. So I went on to read the poem to another Who was in the kitchen - my dear dear mother. Wanting to make her give me some praise I led her away from her mayonnaise To the dining room, and explained the situation And told her to listen with full concentration. After some persuasion she reluctantly agreed And my greatest creation I proceeded to read. As the end of the poem was rapidly nearing I noted that she was still keenly hearing. But suddenly we smelled smoke, and then on turning She found all her precious cooking to be burning. In no time at all the fire brigade was in action And I was left with strong dissatisfaction. Leaving her to herself, I went on upstairs As I did not want to face her glares To read it to the only one left - my father Who was shaving with his Gilette Presto and lather. I explained to him and he said he would hear If only in his shaving it did not interfere. I agreed, and started, but after half an hour When I looked up, there he was, like a tower Fast asleep in the same standing pose So my poetry reading came to a close. But still I didn't fall to despair I thought what to do, and then sent it somewhere. I sent it to the editor of the Hindustan Times He was pleased to see the way it rhymes. By him, my poem was then advertised I was overjoyed to see it popularised. You may think this story is going, going, gone. But it doesn't end here - do please read on. Well, my sister's prediction proved wrong My poem wasn't a flop - it was merely long. And I was awarded - you'll be pleased to hear For the Best COMEDY Writing of the Year. If it interests you, this was done on the day before my english exam in the class ten board examns., just after i read "the frog and the nightingale" by vikram seth. the rhyming of adjacent lines is basically the feature of the poem i "anumalik-ed" from him. apu.