Innocence Regained
“Why do they lay out bread crumbs?”
“And a bowl of water
on the sill?”
Asked my son on a hot afternoon,
All of three years
still.
To feed and quench their thirst, I said,
Of the flocks of
birds that fly.
Pigeons, sparrows and mynas dear
Those that adorn our
sky.
His eyes lit up. We too shall feed.
‘Twas his solemn
pledge.
Grains and water he lovingly laid,
On this our balcony
ledge.
The birds didn’t come to accept the meal,
Laid out by the keen
little host.
They milled around our neighbours’ instead,
And ignored our little
outpost.
Who knows why they ignored our offer.
Perhaps they were
afraid!
The dozens of sparrows and mynas dear,
Even the pigeons greyed.
Dejected, defeated, we returned indoor,
To discover a new
little game.
When the raucous cawing of a crow on our
perch,
My attention did reclaim.
I rushed incensed, and chased the thief.
My son soon followed
me.
“’Twas for the birds, wasn’t it?” he asked,
“Why didn’t you let
him be?”
Words of wisdom, guised in innocence,
It later to me
occurred.
Two score years it took to forget, that
The crow too was a
bird.
Chinmoy Bhattacharjee
26th Sep 2018, Gurugram.
This endeavour is dedicated to Chirayush
Bhattacharjee, whom we lovingly call Arjun. Indeed, it has been inspired by
him. Amidst the lively chatter and incessant questions, accentuated by the deep
furrows on his forehead – he has taught me an invaluable lesson. With disarming
simplicity he has shown where prejudice begins, where conflict and
discrimination begins – where we begin to lose humanity. May you forever hold
on to your humanity my son. God bless.
As we grow older complex we become and tend to forget simple things my nephew just pointed it out.You at least have not forgotten how to listen most of us have.By the way poetry was great!
ReplyDeleteAnd such is life, my friend! How many poets care to write poetries on crow? None, perhaps. Because it doesn't perhaps fit in too well in the context of beauty, charm, and niceness. But Crows are perhaps the most intelligent & hard working lot, fills an important niche - as the zoologist says. But it wouldn't come to a poets imagination at the first place, and thus it would get treated as an intruder in that imagination-driven-reality.
ReplyDeleteWill we ever grow up and be matured like Little Arjun, when we'll not have a fixed definition of beauty, charm or niceness? And will be open to treat everyone on their own individual values?