Poetry As Ornithology Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

Poetry is not poetry, but ornithology,
A bird eye-view,
See the birds flying and derive from,
The kingfisher smoky and glistening
With the blue wings,
Just like a painted doll.

The pond herons, striped and brownish,
Stalking in,
The white storks,
The cranes
In a field of lilies and the small-breed white cows
Going along.

The dark grey mynahs, the striped sterlings
Picking cereals,
The house sparrows now rarer,
The dwellers of the thatched roofs
And straw heaps,
The house bats in search of cracks
Or door holes.

The kite flying high, rounding and rounding,
The hawk, the vulture,
The numbers dropped down and dropping miserably,
I see them not often
Which I used to trace them
Once upon a time.

The blue birds just like the kingfishers,
But in variables in shape and form,
Looking natural,
Playing with the wind,
Rounding and rounding,
The sky blue colour glistening.

When the blue bird flaps the wings, it reminds me
Of a peacock in dance,
But the peacock rarely visible,
I see it not in the forests
Dancing even
In the cage.

In the pond, I find two types of birds living,
One type of black water bird see I often
Which can fly too sometimes
While the other brownish and grey and freckled
Just like a wild hen
Which can take short flights lives into the bushes.