And the little bird
Doesn't sit on the tree anymore
Not feeling safe
Under the shelter of
The leaves of the shady tree,
Whose canopy
Used to be the roof,
Shielding her from
Thrashes of harsh realities.
The little bird
Does not sit anymore
On the tree
Afraid of the predator
Lurking behind
In the
Blooms of greens
Awaiting the trap
To fall in place
And hunt the
Little birdie's peace.
The little bird
Doesn't sing anymore
Afraid of giving away her hideout
And falling in the ploy of
The hunter hiding around.
The little bird
Doesn't sleep any longer in
The peaceful and calming night
Afraid of the glowing yellow eyes
Staring at her from bushes behind
Awaiting for her
To let go of her consciousness
And attack her in her plight.
The little bird
Doesn't smile anymore
Afraid of her serenity
Becoming an invitation
For the predator to come
And hunt her heartsease.
–VRINDA MISHRA
