The Third Parrot Poem by Prof Niamat Ali Murtazai

Like the unfortunate sunset of gloom
Or the ruin of some hours' colored bloom,
Or the deserted king's lonely tomb,
Or the river that in dryness finds its doom,

Or the traveler that is left behind his caravan
Or the unfortunate thrown out of his clan
Or the commander who fails in his plan,
Or the morning that has lost its bright dawn,

A parrot stood lost in its cage of iron
More downcast than Saturn or Hyperion
Its silence was louder than loud clarion
It seemed to be a baron of lands barren.

The she-parrot had lost her companion
Since then she lost interest in her pinion
She did not preen her feathers as a treason
Against the gaiety of the young spring season.

In the same flat of his iron cage
Lived a couple of parrots full of rage
And seemed against this slave, sage
They seemed lords but it seemed a page.
Forceful Fate had snatched her companion sweet
And she could not her past pleasures repeat.
She, as in "Satti', wanted to burn in heat
Of the grate of her heart from head to feet.

Silence was her companion in speech
The chirping of flocks was out of her reach
She seemed to be a skeleton on life's beech
Interested neither in listening nor in speech.

Like the third world or the cripples helpless,
Or like the wandering refugees homeless,
Or like the children wounded in wars aimless,
She was like the worthless tears in distress.

The third parrot launched the poetic rocket high
And Imagination could endlessly fly
As high as flies a newly broken heart's Sigh
In that grief, she seemed to be fully ready to die.

Life, sometimes, leaves us alone like the third parrot;
Life and Fate have their own or they know no merit;
We are for them just like radish or carrot
Or like small midges or a worthless ferret.
(06-05-2017, Saturday,6: 12pm)