Hardik Vaidya (26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)

There was a lonely eagle.
He was the unsung hero of the concrete fractured skies,
The sky allotted to me visible from my Windows's sill.
He used to perch high, on a single pole,
Sticking out of an unoccupied Mall,
Swooping down in a fit of a second, then soaring high
Soaking in the sun and the sky,
I guess he has now died.
The pole is forlorn, it juts out as a unoccupied throne.
The only birds that fly low,
Are the ravens and the doves,
The sky feels no longer the same,
Without its eagle it too looks dead.
The wind still blows,
But it lacks its wings,
The breeze still gushes, but it has no spirit within.