Birds In The Air Poem by Mushtaque B Barq

Birds in the Air

Little flying machines, regal hues under the azure infinite
gyring, in their own heavens, no rules, and precincts,
attracting the glass-eyed man down under their tiny wings
carrying grain or so in their pointed beaks, no storage!
For hope is their dawn and satisfaction their dusk
when they return to their nests marking the sky
in patterns and gyres, randomly and in queues divine
follow what rule these joyful moving dots in the background blue
picking what is left, piercing the scarecrow and sacs alike
reciting the bird scripts well written by the Bards of yore
for birds and souls returning to the source.

Beneath their cozy feather's bliss dwells
sooty glow and the black crow, a tiny sparrow
In their hallow marrows what miracle moves
that the deity of ecstasy in fancy follows their flight
for they know the route to their nests, to their loyal master's thatch
and under the blaze of the brightest eye, they fly over the hills and dales
over graveyards and orchards, over the ugly scarecrows feigned head
over the man's pride and over the rivers wide
they move, for movement is life. Life to them a flight
carefree flight, till the black beauty under the sturdy wings
brings end of their last flight and the wind celebrate their fallen frills
but on the live wires the rest perch to mourn for among the men
they learn, lament and move on.