The Bird | Sagari Chhabra

This morning I saw a bird
on top of a pine tree,
perched on its pinnacle
on a mere twig;
it was feeling the air,
swaying with the breeze,
surveying the snow-capped Himalayas
in utter ease.

She was a tiny, feathered cobalt blue;
I do not know her name,
nor do I wish to know;
I want it to be, just so.

She was telling me to be:
dear human being
why are you always doing,
doing so much;
there is nothing more
than peace, as such.

I gazed at the mountains,
tall and majestic,
the sunlight glinting on the snow caps
and the perfection of each tree.
Who was I to develop it
and destroy the mystery?

The bird called,
was she mocking me;
yet, she was singing
for the sheer pleasure of it.
Then she flew away
and the twig swayed,
telling me of my precarious
existence on earth.

I thought about the suffering
men, women and children in Ukraine
and felt quite insane.
Then I learnt from the bird song,
warble for warble,
I wanted to live in a world
without warring squabble.

Sagari Chhabra
March 2022