In the greenery of the courtyard
Nested the Bulbul
Always in hide, but at times
A shine of the black beak
The crested headgear
Or a glowing red garland.

A flash now and then
Of the crimson tail-vent
The bird of *******
Of the rustic legends
Said old granny
The sight of the bird brings
Cyclic periods to woman
‘Bathe bathe bathe’
Babbles the bird.

Before the tomcat wakes up
From the ashy hearth
Into the nest everyday
I steal a peak.

Soft and tiny, dotted pink
Two cute eggs…

Later with slit-open eyes
Open beaks sticking out
But with no wings…

Today the nest is empty
Slaughtered by the cat
Or the wings bloomed?

The sound of ritual ‘kurava’
Announced a wonder news
The neighborhood twin girls
Have attained puberty together.

The crook tomcat
Should be exiled
In a gunny bag
Out of sight afar
Across the river.

The twilight pyre burning still
Across the sand bed
Towards the slender stream
He led his mother

It punctured his sole
Should not hurt someone else
Plucked out the skeletal scrap
Damp with his blood
And set afloat in the river

From the basil bush
Shed a bunch of leaves
Into the flow gleaming
With dripping sandal paste
Of the dipping Sun

On the son's wound
She dripped the soothing sap
To end the long waiting
Rubbing the mother's shoulder
Whispered the Calotropis
'Though you hid it so long....'

Sharp spiny tips concealed
Beneath the scorching shoal
They rest in waiting
The destitute fatherhoods.