BIRDS ARE POETS

I witnessed one early morning, a moment when the very first rays of the sun sprinkled on the foliage tips of a large mango tree and its feathered dwellers all began to sing in chorus to greet the new day.

When the morning sun shines

the birds compose;

the trees offer fruits,

their sturdy branches turn gentle

for a perching bird.

They fly above;

they gaze at the ardor

Of scenes and scents

and of smoke rising

towards the realm of space.

And below are little kids

with slingshots and pets;

Dogs may chase them

but birds pick their morsels.

Chirp-chirp-chirp

Little bird I wish to touch you

Before the nimble lithe prints

and the fluttering wings

of an ephemeral moment.