Birds do not perch on trees
On their tiny branches
You see a kind of dull green small leaves
I have hardly seen them wither and fall
With neither flowers nor fruit
indifferent they stand to the fondling of wind.
Of new green sprouts and yellow fall
Spring or autumn
Speaks no words
Over the compound walls of the tall towers,
On fronds of the coconut trees
A peacock screams
Every dawn
In her brisk morning walk round the campus
A lady, in her T-shirt and three-fourth trousers,
Presents her slight smile
At the bird's quiver of covert feathers
From the cool shades of neem trees
Somewhere away from the flats
Comes floating on wind
A sad song of the cuckoo
Carrying the vast blue on wings
A pair of grey pigeons
Alight on the balconies
Then, with little hope of making nest there
Fly back in a cooing of frustration
Tired after travels on the blaring city roads
Luxury cars parked around the towers
Brood all the afternoon
Amid the noise of waters
From a fountain
Drenching small patches of lawns,
The little cricketers squeak
At the batsman's destiny
Amid no wails and cries
The elderly die and disappear to the crematorium
Tears inundate the residents' WhatsApp group
Beside the homes that never have seen death
The Buddha meditates in his padmasana
Like the water from the fountain
Down His pedestal
His blessings shower on the blessed
- B. Meenakshi Sundaram
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