Happiness
Sheltered in
my
sobered cove of
Rumination followed
by writing,
My view catches the sudden pirouette ,
Frisk and swoop
on the oval shaped mound.
The orange eyed, peacock coloured
neck of
the exotic bird
shines through
the balcony,
more by its calls for
its clan,
pecking at
the rice balls, my
daily ritual
of
feeding my usual
visitors.
Each careful peck
at the particle ,
Is the
gratification I receive,
Suffice of
hunger for the
birds,
They don’t distinguish stale
rice
Or fresh ones. A whiff of
wind
throws all the
food particles
much to the chagrin
of starved,
yet my privilege
these birds are.
Their fond look of
expectation,
My replenishing the plastic plate
A
source of bonafide Benediction for me.
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