The land of cycles and oranges

 

Pale skies and chilly nights
Little nuggets of clear blue sky
The world on this side is funny enough,
As time seems to be passing by

The roads run in wrong direction
But men seem to be on the right
With cheerful souls and happy thoughts
They seem to be a warm sight

The speeches are long and the clothes short
The boots click on the gravel stones
The market closes in the evenings
And everyone owns an iPhone

The work is timed perfectly
Planned to the last second it seems
The old men ride cycles to home
And old women workout in gyms

The kids play on meadows so green
And cows graze in open fields
The milk comes in cartons of paper
And electricity comes from windmills

The chocolates are bitter in flavor
But butter and bread seem sweet
The whisky is mixed with honey dew
Which one must always drink neat

The curtains are drawn in the morning
And windows are opened at night
The dawn creeps upon the clouds
And sun always runs from a losing fight

The college has a revolving door
That keeps the crowd in check at times
And the whole village will call it a day
When the church bells do their usual chimes

The food is a bit bland but made from heart
The desserts are as beautiful as they may be
The coffee is ambrosial in its flavor
But there is no milk in their tea

Lights will always be yellow
Even those who are named as warm white
The beer is cheaper than water here
And frozen veggies is a sorry sight

Their language is a beautiful blend of many
Mixed into a bowl of salad
With side dressings of occasional English
The house music replaces the old ballad

Houses are made of wood and brick
With occasional molds of tin and sticks
Rome was not built in a day maybe
But these will be done efficiently in a few weeks

The ponds are palettes of blue and green
Taking shades from van Gogh’s portraits
Or paintings of Rembrandt and van Heer
Or structures of Victorian floodgates

The canals run deeper than veins
And the dykes stand higher than air
Flatlands canvassing the meadowlands
No sign of snake or a vermin snare

The trains are punctual than death itself
The buses run from all directions
The trams have weak but joyful bells
The states are cut in square sections

The oaks and birch stand long and tall
And so do the pine and its lot
The apples glisten in morning dew
And the honeybee looks much like a moth

The spiders are imports of far away land
And so are the sheep and the goats
The villages that were once destroyed in wars
Now stand proud and strong behind the moats

The rocky riverbed is covered in grass
Masking all the hard rules of nature
This is a free country my dear
A handsome king sits at the top of legislature

Love it, like it, hate it, leave it
It is a unique, quaint, small piece of land
This is the land of cycles and oranges
This is what they call, Netherlands!

–Pranav