Wednesday, February 14, 2024

PASSING BIRDS


           



            


            


                                       



                    

1.    Once in my green foliage many birds dwelt

A safe shelter for so many fluttering wings

Charmed by cool shade they used to swing and sing

A row of colorful feathers intense joy they felt

I too felt their sensations friendly and warm

My shielding boughs made them feel safe and calm

A sense of meaning I felt in my existence

Made them happy cradled in my green world dense.

 

2.    I watched those tiny birds open their beaks

As mother birds down their throats pushed worms down

Those weak lumps of flesh with twinkling eyes brown;

I watched how they guarded those tiny birdlings weak;

A festive gathering with diverse merry sounds

Those static figures on boughs slept above the ground

A merry, luscious, pulpy feast they had

Feeding on my clustered fruits, they felt glad.

 

3.    Those feathered comrades too felt elated and free

Their eyes seemed to grasp my green touch and shade;

They flew from branch to branch with twittering glee

My shelter to them is a heavenly glade;

My youthful vigor inspired them indeed;

In every corner they scattered my blooms and seeds;

A close inseparable bond we enjoyed in past

But now I feel those golden moments lost. 

 

4.    With rolling years my verdant glory seen no more

Like splintered clouds driven by winds I shed my leaves

No growing tender shoots or buds I retrieve;

Those that remained turned sickly brown to the core;

A seared dry stump of wood with branches bare

No rustling dreamy whispers can I share

No proud bunch of dense foliage I display

On my bald top no more birds dance and play.

 

5.    Our looks and views driven by time slowly change

Our kindred bonds influenced by growing age

No more can we go back to our earlier stage;

Time’s unpredictable turns beyond our range

My bosom friends no more approach with rustling wings

No more will they spring on leafy branches and swing;

Like passing clouds new relationships they seek

Leaving my dry withered branches cold, dry and bleak.

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   14th February, 2024                   Somaseshu Gutala

 

 

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