Ode to a slumber-gale, parody of John Keat’s “Ode to a Nightingale”

July 22, 2012
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Say, was it three, six, or seven summers ago when you abhorred my visits? Perhaps I was much too carefree at the time, and swept across your eyes too often amidst the glory of nights when stars twinkled with your undying dreams, dreams ringing with that heartening rhyme “We Shall Overcome!” Oh that age of innocence! When all the world’s miseries and misfortunes lay obscured beneath the horizon; that all you perceive is a brilliant, rising sun embellished by the fire of passions and hope. Then you detested me, thought me unworthy of existence and struggled to shun me even when I caressed your untroubled eyelids with the most benevolent intentions. You fought me, tried chastising me, entirely out of thirst for a taste of life, and fled my tearful embrace whilst you drowned in yawns and numbness. Roaming in this vast, vicious realm of knowledge and endeavors was the more favorable option. Yet by some supernatural aid I still arrested you under my wings, sent you to that boundless, beautiful kingdom called “dreamland.”

Now dear, did you say you crave for me? Had I by some fantastical force became more attractive or affable, or that I wield in my hands the magic to revive the promising youth-hood? Oh friend, for once I heard the songs of experience slipping through your lips. Who taught you that song, friend? Was it a Mrs. Beegiver? Or the Harvard Admission Office? My heart aches, and a piercing sorrow pains my sense, as though of black tea I had take, or swallowed some cocoa extracts for the brain these hours past, leaving sunken my winged arms. It’s not through happiness of your troubled lot, but being too vexed in your diSTRESS, that you, the grave-hearted junior before a test, in some cacophonous plot, of homework piled and essays numberless, sing’est of ‘life’ like a wicked pest!

Oh! For a boost of grade point average! That has been yearned a long age in this tedious course, blaspheming of self-esteem and family life, drugs, and mental illnesses and tobacco! O! For a score card full of the blissful checks! Full of the proud, the glowing eight hundreds, with impeccable percentiles shimmering at your mirth, and a six-earning essay; that I should drink, and leave what life there be, and with thee dive deep into the Barron’s Review©.

Dive deep down, dissolve, and quite forget what thou of the cinder block walls hast ever known, the weariness, the fever, and the fret there, where youths wither and hear each other groan; where college confidential crushes the last few impractical dreams; where perfect vision falls blurry, diminishes, and cries for spectacles; where to crave for fun is of foremost sin; where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes engulfed among distended bags of ashen grey.

Below! Below! For I must dive with thee! Not poisoned by Ivies and their liege, but rejoice in that sunlit path you so choose. Though the baffled brain twinges and bellows: Robot must I be. GPA and Sat. And inertly the champ’s plaque stands in its frame, cluster’d around by medals dull and dim. But here there is light, ignited by the ardent passions thou embrace through dreary failures and blood, tears, sweat paved ways.

Friend, here is light, the unearthly paradise called “dreamland” that you abhorred. The land you once hesitated none to forsake, once trodden upon with pitchforks to struggle free. Now you entreat to linger here, plead me to diffuse through your eyes more often. I forgive you, dear, and gently carry you to that kingdom devoid of stress, despair, and torment amidst this midnight hour. Here lies what thou cherish, thy identity and hopes safeguarded and intact. Then all of the sudden appears the companions of thy youth, ones thy confided in and endeared to heart. By your arms, they cling with warmth and compassion, and with thee stroll across the fields of golden daffodils, each nodding at your return. The worries gone, thy heart elated once again by the songs of innocence…

Innocence! The very word is a blessing showering thee with divine elation. No more conformity! Ye art the righteous king of thy dreams, and thy companion the queen of thy skies. Arm in arm, ye rise up to the heavens of eternal delight whilst the morning alarm rang DING DING DING DING DING

Was it a vision? Or a waking dream? Fled is that misery: —do I wake or sleep?

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