Birdwatching

“Kotri”, calls the treepie

and I look up seeking it.

“Kotri”, he trills again

but I only see the looming trees

with their branches of

doubt, anxiety, and fear.

—

Here stands the ancient banyan

with roots of my past sins

digging into the earth

holding up the edifice of doubt.

—

Here sways the lithe mango

with fresh green shoots

mockingly smiling at

my inferior skills and knowledge.

—

There towers the strong teak

its dry leaves withering away.

The futile flight of

my foolish hopes.

—

There blooms the fiery palash

crimson flowers edges gilded with gold

lamps of a blissful future

that might yet never fruit.

—

“Ke! Ke! Ke!”, laughs the treepie.

I look away in shame

unable to find it.

And it jumps to my feeble sight

unveiling the glory of its myriad colours.