My theme was: A woman who wants to be a singer but precisely has zero talent
...
There lived a girl in a small Indian town,
At every social gathering, she wore a long gown,
She smiled at everyone whom she met ,
For this reason, she was older folks' pet.
How nice and lovable, cultured and sweet.
Were the remarks embedded at her feet.
There was though something else she'd do,
Thought of herself a Cuckoo and go ku-oh-ku-oh,
Those who were not deaf could figure it out,
The identity crisis that had sprout,
Like everything on your shirt collar is not a bow,
Her voice resembled not a cuckoo but a crow.
A mute shrug and a loud sneer,
People tried everything to make it clear.
The girl still wanted to become a rockstar,
But her music made everybody go away far.
In search of an audiance, she walked out of the town
Her singing made even the blossoms frown.
Dejected but not disheartened, she kept moving on,
And so went her singing, awn and awn and awn.
Eventually she landed near a small house
Where lived a lonely old man without a spouse.
He gave her some cookies, milk and toast,
But there was something else that she liked the most.
He enjoyed what the world considered as noise;
He let her sing at the top of her voice,
As the man danced off beat to her off tune songs,
Something right was made out of two wrongs.
