The pigeons are dying before death

I know you are busy.

There are a thousand different things,

You are obligated to do,

Just like my parents;

They too spent themselves earning bread,

For me and my five siblings.

 

Given their limited means,

They have done their best,

To help us survive,

But have we survived?

Or would your child be able to survive?

 

I was 10,

Playing in the street with my friend,

That uncle,

Who lived just around the corner,

And his friends,

They said they wanted to show us pigeons.

 

You know how curious young boys can be,

Even the uncle living next door and the aunty,

Who often sat with my mother,

Saw us leave to see the pigeons.

 

There were only two pigeons,

The rest, upon seeing all the uncles,

Just rushed to hide,

“If you had not come to visit them,” they said,

All these pigeons would have died.

 

We ran after them,

But they could not fly,

Those uncles had clipped their wings,


So that they may not even try.

 

Could you imagine a bird’s misery?

When it cannot fly?

When it is stripped of its wings?

Does before death it die?

 

But those uncles said,

We could help them fly.

How?

“If you could give them your wings.” They replied.

 

Our wings?

“Yes, if you take off your clothes,” they said,

“And do as you are told.”

We really wanted those birds to fly.

 

And they stripped us of our wings,

By and by,

Can you imagine the pain?

Our miserable plight?

 

And they stripped us of all our wings,

But those pigeons still could not fly.

Now, those uncles have our wings too.

And we are left with a few.

 

I know you are busy,

And you have lot to do.

But they are collecting wings all over the country.

 

Could you help us get our wings back?

And stop those uncles from clipping more wings?

Would you?