A Date With Ducks Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

Comes when the mom comb duck crackling,
Her brood not far behind following—
With all her brood— chicks seventeen,
Marvellous that makes wetland scene.

In fresh-water swamps as they breed,
Togetherness seems their sole creed
Till they disperse in wet season,
In swamps, so scorching when gets sun.

To be in large flocks of hundred
O Knob-billed, seems your common creed,
And to have no leader to lead,
You've pecking order, tail nor head.

Do thou a few things to men teach—
That they stick to no chairs like leech,
Nor be proud frogs, nor rooster cocks,
He's leader's that fosters his flocks.

On swampy greens alone you feed,
And oft on sturdy water weeds,
On smaller fish and sundry seeds,
You O Mother of chicks in lead!

I admire how your life you lead,
Glad with your girth shorn still of greed—
Yet to see one of you so lean—
Your blue tinge goes off well with green.

Who can call you ugly duckling?
Lo, beauty there's in white and black,
Just one thing you perhaps still lack—
The way you sing— coarse crackling.

With feathers black and body white,
And hints of dark blue tinged with green,
A speckled neck nigh greyish quite,
But it's your claws that peace prize win—

Webbed, nor for hunt nor fight are made,
Nor your beak an aggression shows,
Nor your colour mix is war red,
Nor hunting, harming a duck knows.

As mom you seem considerate,
Care-worn your eggs to incubate,
Ye raise chicks single-hand alone,
All— a dozen and half ye own!
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Comb duck, or knob-billed duck an unusual pan-tropical bird is found in tropical wetlands of sub-Saharan Africa, Madagascar, South Asia from far of Pakistan through India to Laos and extreme South China. Even the so-called ugly ducklings have a beauty of their own. ______________________________________________________
Nature/Flora | 08.08.11 |