Life is like a festival of ‘basant’
At which,
Young kids fly kites
And don’t mind using the china twine
Which has a high killer potential.
Govt announcements apart,
Who bothers about life,
That too of others,
When their own joy
Is at stake?
While having a post-dinner stroll
We came across a pigeon
Trying hard to fly
But caught in a twine
Which did not oblige.
We caught the pigeon
And to our horror,
The twine had got round
And round and round
Its body, and clipped its wings.
The pigeon now was scared
The poor thing didn’t know for what
He had been trapped.
Would this hand wrench its neck
And boil it the next moment.
Ohh! The poor thing was
In the hands of mercy.
We brought a pair of scissors
And started cutting the twine
It was badly wrapped around its wings.
At last the twine was cut,
But it had impaired his wings,
And when we left it free,
It could only move,
And failed to fly.
We brought it home,
And offered it all it liked to eat.
It is still in our balcony,
But still not able to fly
But it knows what is care and safety.
The story held a lesson for me.
The twine represents the little misses
That we make,
Which then wrap around our neck
And our wings, and halt our flight.
Rather, they cut our wings sometimes
And we are made vulnerable
To the vultures,
A moment with a cat
Was enough to do it in.
Desires, passions, unfilled dreams
Keep us trapped like this twine
And impair our freedom,
Rather put our very life in danger.
Christ is not born in every manger.
