That Black Bird Poem by Saroj Padhi

That black bird trembling in morning cold
gaunt, grave, dry and old
behind leaves, dappled brown and green
under rain of profuse dew
as its tail it lightly does preen,
tries hard a few words to speak
as it moves its long, sharp beak,
but ends up staring at me with a look quite blank
as the trunk with tears of morn, grows quite dank;
dropping pearls of sacred dust
from under its feet, soaked in life's lust
to the forehead of the brown earth
bathing in mist of divine mirth
to instantly create images of God on anthill
for the lovers' lit-up minds to fill
as drops falling from shivering branches
echo the music that sweetly my soul fully drenches
to catch the rainbow from the wings of butterflies
and from colored plumes of the feathered friend
as high up it suddenly soars and heavenward it flies.