There lived a tiny creature,
With fluttering wings.
A tiny beak to break nuts,
And claws for clinching.
It had built its home,
Inside a giant croton dome.
Shielded from rain and storm,
Shadowed from sight and sun.
Trees of wood apple, bamboo, lemon,
Karanj*, neemand many unknown.
All these surrounding the tall croton,
Turning to an aviary of our own.
Swarmed by the flock,
Squawking and shrieking birds.
Of all sizes and plumages,
Chirping around in octave chord.
That tiny tot carries,
Our father's Soul.
He hops around branches,
As a guarding Soul.
Theistically narrating stories,
From pothis^ andPuranas^.
All ancestors joining the chorus,
In concerted congregation.
I cannot disagree with
Denotation of my brother,
These birds are our forefathers,
The Tiny one being our father.
- -
*Local name of a tree belonging to neem family.
^ Indian mythological literature.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem