A Tiny Bird Poem by Dr. Richa Tewari

The sky is my mother’s lap
In the time of tears,
Enduring heat, storm, cloud’s slap,
The changing season smears.

Soaring in the height of the sky, clinging
With decreed head on the dead flesh stinking,
The upshot of the last birth
I’m an angel of nature on earth.

In the world’s moments of leisure
My groan sounds a tune of pleasure,
When man’s life faces doom,
My spring song sounds gloom.

On man’s quaking mood my days last,
Seasons flavors – temporary and fast,
On hunter’s glare, vulture’s shrill sound
My fear knows no bound.

A life under universe’s thrash,
In peril certainly can crash,
A feeble, prey of man’s absurd,
I’m a tender, troubled, tiny bird.