Sparrow ( After Guardian)
Sullen, your mood spoiling snow,
melting on the grass, now beautiful
dew drops, creating a new mood
for
a different world; Sparrows
on the twigs, dancing, their own
world of independence; their own
elated view, sometime sad profuse
of humanity’s perspective in their
own voice of chattering
in your coinage. The sparrows
spongy neck, cautious looking
and pecking here and there,
looking at us in prison, breaking
stone walls, do they know our
predicament, suffering, our
angst this moment, the puzzle
of our imprisonment? Hungry
beaks picking up bread crumbs
in what way different from ours
waiting for a crunch ;each in our
own world of thinking and mode
of survival; do they thank their
stars? Do we? I know not, for
tomorrow is our for sure.
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