Famished Pigeon Poem by Ananta Madhavan

The morning sun shone brighter by the minute.
The city birds have twittered, wheeled and flown
To places far away. This lonely bird,
It is a pigeon rather than a dove,
Is thirsting for a sheltered perch, too parched
To clap its wings and soar aloft to pools,
Where companions may show it thicker leaves.
The pigeon is unwelcome outside our kitchen, where
The wide windows are always glassed away;
Where the railing is forbidden as a refuge,
Because the bird is instinct-bound to excrete
The scanty fare it picked up and consumed,
While human bipeds consume whole lifetimes.

It is a plump creature in unsure repose,
With wearied wings, tight claws gripping the rail.
"Poor thing, " is all I say in wordless pity.
Famished and lonely in the endless sky.
"Poor thing, " I say within my urban heart.