The birds started off and flew
homeward in a formation, changing positions,
yet keeping the shape.
Their chirruping filled the evening air as
the sun started dipping down
beyond the hillocks.


Birds have a strong instinct of fear and danger, I knew,
As the light faded in the shy,
I measured the distance from the pigeon
that walked tiptoe on the street,
but in an instance,
before I could understand anything,
the speeding wheels had run over its delicate frame.
It took only three seconds for it
to flutter its wings and die.

The boy from the nearby shop, ran down and
sprinkled water on its wriggling body,
to no avail,
It was cold as a pebble on a morning beach,
I was filled with
no sorrow but the terrible remorse of misjudging the distance,
and a tremendous sense of guilt
of killing an innocent bird.

Later, lying on bed,I kept on thinking why
a bird as fast-moving as a pigeon, did not fly away?
And consoled my guilt-ridden heart, that
may be its death was imminent
and I was only an instrument that destiny chose
to take back one of its children.

Whatever was the connivance
of destiny with life,
My heart will bear the scar for ever,
that I killed an innocence bird on a street,
one afternoon.