MID NIGHT ANGELUS

Set him a goal

And make him a promise

Then, his real zeal strongly shown

And he, becoming more devout in hope,

More devout than Monk.

 

He becomes nocturnal,

Defying all natural rule

And all artificial order, he disorders,

Paying no heed to light outs.

It doesn’t matter, it’s no sin,

After all, he says the mid night Angelus.

 

With agitated nerves, he tarries

At the door post of his hopes,

He tarries from the eleventh hour

With audible faith, faith with a hand

A hand that pulls the land of time

To rest at the hour of target.

It doesn’t matter, he practices punctuality.

 

His loud silent voice of aspiration

Makes lovers of sleep keep unwanted vigil;

No query, no qualms,

He comes to wish good wishes,

Good wishes to a clear brother,

The key holder to his quest.

 

Although triple-filtered stuff his reward be,

Cold bell beer his remuneration,

It hearts no fly;

He must show fraternal love.

But who knows the intention of a dog

That keeps guard over a pot meat?