THE WHITE BIRDS

Picture courtesy www.jwfoto.com


Nestled in between
The walls entertaining
Barbed wires and the house
Across the street stood two
Apple trees and an almond tree.


Thrice the height of the walls
One could spy the trees
Swaying from side to side
All through the day in conversation
With the excited wind.


One morning,
A flock of white birds
Appeared among the tree branches,
Adding a bit of colour and
Excitement to the dull green
Choking on dust turned
Up by vehicles as they go up
And down the untarred road.


They would leave by sundown
Back before sun up,
After a while,
The trees looked a bit unusual,
Almost as though branches
Were missing whenever the birds
Had left for the night,
Feathers had become one with leaves.


It was a weekend,
Men with chainsaws in greasy
Overalls showed up,
They stripped the trees bare
Leaving behind six stumps
Looking very unamused.


Till this very day,
The white birds have never showed,
I sit and stare at mean
Looking stumps
Aggrieved and crying out
For shade.


I miss the white birds,
Almost as though they kept
Coming because of me,
They had become me and I them,
The white birds.