At midnight,
After the rains,
I spread my wings
And flew across
The wide road
Without any company
And there,
Was this board.

Sparrow trading

That’s good.

Trading sparrows.
Trading birds.
Birds to be sold.

I decided
To troll
Ravishankar aka Ra Sh
As a translator
And Babu Ramachandran
Aka Alberto Caeiro.

I entered
The Sparrow Factory.
The Bird Market.
Wholesale trading centre of birds
Without ringing the bell.

I did not want to
Wake up
Even a single little sparrow,
So,
I stepped in
Without a sound
Or even a thought.

There was no bird
At the gate
The watchman
A retired soldier
Snored.

I moved on.
There was no one.

Where did those two cat eyes go?

I pushed
The window
Open
Gently
And looked in.

A lad
Fast asleep
Breaking all grammar
In some unknown language.

Brother, brother
I called
Without the birds hearing it.

That
Unknown language
Blinked awake
And walked up to me.

I felt so sad for him.

I asked,
Softly,
Weighed down by guilt.

Birds?

He said.

Birds gone loose.

Birds gone loose?

Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose. Birds gone loose.

Every human being
On this universe
Sang
In many languages.

That
Birds gone loose.

Nothing more to say.

*You too can try these three things. Except going in search of those birds that have gone loose.

Kuzhur Wilson
Translated by Anand Haridas

Little Birds are dining
Warily and well,
Hid in mossy cell:
Hid, I say, by waiters
Gorgeous in their gaiters -
I've a Tale to tell.

Little Birds are feeding
Justices with jam,
Rich in frizzled ham:
Rich, I say, in oysters
Haunting shady cloisters -
That is what I am.

Little Birds are teaching
Tigresses to smile,
Innocent of guile:
Smile, I say, not smirkle -
Mouth a semicircle,
That's the proper style!

Little Birds are sleeping
All among the pins,
Where the loser wins:
Where, I say, he sneezes
When and how he pleases -
So the Tale begins.

Little Birds are writing
Interesting books,
To be read by cooks:
Read, I say, not roasted -
Letterpress, when toasted,
Loses its good looks.

Little Birds are playing
Bagpipes on the shore,
Where the tourists snore:
"Thanks!" they cry. "'Tis thrilling!
Take, oh take this shilling!
Let us have no more!"

Little Birds are bathing
Crocodiles in cream,
Like a happy dream:
Like, but not so lasting -
Crocodiles, when fasting,
Are not all they seem!

Little Birds are choking
Baronets with bun,
Taught to fire a gun:
Taught, I say, to splinter
Salmon in the winter -
Merely for the fun.

Little Birds are hiding
Crimes in carpet-bags,
Blessed by happy stags:
Blessed, I say, though beaten -
Since our friends are eaten
When the memory flags.

Little Birds are tasting
Gratitude and gold,
Pale with sudden cold:
Pale, I say, and wrinkled -
When the bells have tinkled,
And the Tale is told.

There are birds.
The birds are pursuing you.
The birds are silver
And their reflections
Are just that more brilliant
Gliding over the ocean.

It’s so beautiful,
But you don’t notice.
Because you don’t know
That the grass is green
Or that the sun is shining
Or that the birds are singing.

Only, the birds are singing…
Screaming, rather.

But you know it’ll stop soon.
And you notice
That you could be on vacation,
If it weren’t for the screaming silver birds.
But the birds will be silent soon
And silent birds make for crying women
And fatherless children.

You could be on vacation.
Because the sky is so blue
And the clouds are so white
Like the innocence you used to have.
And you wish you could smell the air.
But all you notice is the smell of
Fear and gasoline
And melting chocolate in your pocket.

The silver birds flying behind you
Are angry and they want you to fall
Out of the sky.
But all you know is that you want it
To be quick and painless.

The screaming grows louder
So you know your wings are hurt
So you dive. Unwillingly.
And all you can think about
Is your girl and how she’s going to cry
And how your boy isn’t going to know you.
He’ll just be told that you were a hero,
Not that you were scared of silver birds.

So the birds, both angry and silver, crash into the ground,
But the wreckage isn’t made of feathers.
All you know is that you wish it were.
It’s so beautiful
You could be on vacation
Because you’re lying in a field of flowers.
And they’re as brilliant as the ocean was.

But those flowers are burning,
And the sky is orange, the clouds ashen,
And the grass is slick with blood
And you don’t know where the ocean is.

So you realize that you’re not dead
Because you’re covered in red
And everything hurts.
And the screaming hasn’t stopped.
Your men are lying around you with torn feathers…

Bleeding.

The angry birds that brought you to this place
Are broken too. Fallen too.
So you don’t hate them anymore
Because it doesn’t matter that their
Feathers are different colors than yours.
Their girls are crying and their boys
Won’t know them either.

And through the pain all
You can cry is Mother, Mother!
And through the pain all
The angry birds can cry is Mutter, Mutter!
Until all the birds are silent.

It's quiet now...
You could be on vacation.