A Bird That Was Most Used Up
It is a bird that was most used up
Yet, it is still not damaged and in good condition
As though it is drawn and drawn
Used and used again and again
You see, not a single strand of feather lost.
It is the bird to show you
changing its color, each moment
as you wink your eyes
She is rushed out at an early daybreak
Then only, the mending work in the painting
She ate all the colors in painting
Same thing happened the other day
she pecked and pecked all the words
of a song and ate up,
The song I wrote
The greatness of a language
And its paintings,
Are most used by this bird
Yet she is still in good condition
And without any damage made
Probably, you would have guessed
Which this bird is.
If not, no time left for you to guess
Stop reading and get lost.
‘Cos, it is the time for lines of poems
To develop and float
In this bird and to take rest.
Monday, October 10, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: fiction