O! Funny Fog Poem by Shraddhanand Srivastava

O! Funny fog that
Pervades the sphere
Bedims even the lamp of heaven;
Yes the sun struggle to steer through
Almost benumbed and the funny fog grins:
The trees stand dumb
With leaves deeply drench,
The birds with their beak
Buried in their wings;
The men stuck to their bed
Well wrapped up in the warming quilt:
The poor grandma with her
Crying grandson twists herself within
An icy cold sheet;
The shivering old man
Just shrunken in the rags
Along with his son, picks up
Something out of garbage;
The puffy small puppies
Screeching vociferously
Seeks the warmth from a sickly bitch;
O the funny fog
Stop grinning at
Let the sun come out
And the men out of their quilt;
Let coughing hag be at ease
And the small babe smile;
Away, away go away o funny fog!
Veer towards the castles
Rub your nozzle on the window pane
Sneer at the men wearing the furry coat
And feel
How it is to be scoffed at;
O the funny fog
Now hark the cry of penury
And cease to be.