Thursday, April 9, 2009


Some mist,
With twist;
That morning I remember,
Regular- blinking;
Eyes in November;

The sunny softy ray some yellow,
Touching my eyes frequently and mellow;
Twitter Twitter like soft arrow,
Gaming-couple of lovely sparrow;

They fed,
To beaks open spread;
With water, food n all,
In the nest,
With some zest;
The two baby sparrows-small;

The day came,
When the babies turned lame;
The fan killed both,
Mother sparrow-died,
Father sparrow-died;
Babies cried-with stopped growth;

I climbed the tree,
With some water of sea;
For the baby sparrows,
But- they drank their tear,
The only thing they ate was air;
And they died in their own sorrows;

Days passed,
December surpassed;
January came,
One more year added,
Years on years flooded;
But sparrows never changed their game;

Today also, when there is some mist,
With some twist;
I put off the fan-killing arrow,
I see their relatives-Opening-closing, regular- blinking,
I see their relatives-Hoping-Nearing, fearing-faring;
I see them gaming-couple of lovely sparrow.

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