Poetry / March 2013 (Issue 20)

Death of a Sparrow

by Anirban Chakraborty

Wind must have blown it
Away from its intentions,
Of this high voltage highway:
A curious truant has just kicked it
To bring it back to the real,
An afternoon wish he had...
I saw it through the grilled veranda
Quiver and shiver, thrilled
To feel its death

I’m here now, pulled it on my palms,
Little crooked claws, quiver in shiver
Wings still desired, in approaching twilight
Sparkled an emerald clotted eye
Thrilled to feel its death, I
Cupped its warmth in my clasp
Before somebody fossilized it
To make a mile mark

The cycle mending shop nearby
Saw it die, after all workmen’s hands
Cannot hold pain for long
It’s beyond their afford

I wished to suck its warmth dry
And let it die in my enclosed prayer
Since it could not do away within it
I thought I felt its last breath
Was it mixed with its sigh?

In the mean time I’ve found
My sweaty summer kurta
After all I belong to this world!
I’ve held it hanging by its wings intact
Yet a whole to be carried away
To a distant farmland where the
Vultures might find their final prey
Lying on the graceful green grass
And if the hovering dusk covers it
Before that, maggots have to
Solve that detritus riddle

I believe in them; I had faith
Even before I carried it away
From my front yard path

I’m afraid of stale air or I might have
Gone far beyond that otherwise
I wouldn’t have caught these little flaws
In these black marks
On this fragrant parchment
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