Thou Art No Common Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

I oft shooed thee as bird of barest brain,
No, ye do hide behind some talent rare,
Should a rare hand nurture ye to train,
Thine sense of shades I doubt any may share.

It is thine knack human commands to heed
That makes thee a bird of a choicest breed,
Thou ‘lone, O angel, canst call a Monet
From a Picasso, Peace pigeon, prized pet!

It was when I saw a huge flock of thee
Taking off from the ground at a command,
Swirling soon in a formation to be,
Showing off skills in flight, and to soft-land,

Thence to trap birds of rival fleet—what treat!
I know ye deserve discerning diet—
Of dry fruits and pure Indian ghee— a bit
Rich may it look — a long-corn and millet.

I never knew doves could be trained to tell
A human voice or whistle, and many
A hand gesture to return safe and well
To base, until I did thine talent see.

Thou hast the measure of magnetic field
Of Earth, to have a sense to know at best
Thine place in space with the power ye wield,
And to return spot-on to place of rest.

Those eyes hast more colour cones than us,
That thou canst see three times as many shades
As humans, making ye a bird so precious,
A pigment marked seldom from thine mind fades.

O thou, a perennial guest of my house,
I'd not shoo thee away- now that I know
Thou art not like that pesky pest, the mouse;
Yet hygiene's good habits ye ought to show!

And ye make every corner, every niche
In my house, and thine nesting place, a rage,
Thine maternity home all so hellish,
But, pray, a house is no home of garbage!

It's odd, we call thee a common pigeon;
Such rare credentials can't make thee common.
For nesting home, O thou a homing bird:
What made ye leave trees to like human herd?
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Reflections | 02.01.12 |
Topic: peace, angel, pigeon