Poem

Ornithology

Under concrete eaves

Their amber beaks

Such tiny tender V's

Reached blindly for the sky

From their maternal nest

Where a verdant mango branch

Had stretched itself.

For three weeks

From my Bangkok balcony

I had watched the languid

Streak-eared bulbul drama

Unfolding.

Skittishly weaving

The to-ing and fro-ing

Of mum

Her little black eyes

Like tiny sequins

Alert

And then the three pale eggs

That she sat upon

Like watercolour pebbles

Flitting only when

She heard me at my door.

Finally 6.57am

June thirteenth -

There they were -

A yard from my open mouth -

Demanding sustenance,

Claiming time.

Grinning stupidly

I vowed to photograph them

When I got home...

And in that early evening,

As monstrous nimbus

Grew steely grey above the concrete tollway

Arching over rainbow-coloured

Traffic jams

I crept out to observe

The infant

Picnonotus blanfordi

Only to find them gone -

Too young to fly,

Too young to die -

An emptiness revealed.

Nobody mourned the helpless hatchlings

But me.

I turned to watch the world news

From the paternal BBC -

From Yemen to Syria

From Myanmar to Libya

Eyes raised blindly to the sky

For liberty and justice -

And the basic right to fly.