The Munia’s Flight

It was late in the evening and I was exhausted from work,
Waiting for another meeting I heard a desperate chirp,
A poor little munia sat on my balcony
And I asked —
 “With all the sides covered by a grill,
Can you please tell me how you got in?”

But she just chirped.

I never got around solving the mystery,
But decided what I ought to do —
With all my strength and valour
I loosened the metal binding the grill,
While I thought that she would be thrilled

She just chirped.

Perhaps she did not know that it had opened up
And so I tried to show her the way
But she charged at me with all her might
And I was left severely dazed

And now she chirped loudly!

She flitted from here to there and everywhere that she could go,
And soon my balcony had been totally explored
Except, of course, for the place she ought to have known!
Even the trail of grain that I laid to lead her away
Was scattered to my great dismay

And then she chirped.

Maybe I made her nervous and so I decided to leave,
And from a far away window I tried to peek
What was it, after all, that the munia was trying to seek,
But to my anguish all she did
Was to find my towel and shit

And then she chirped.

By this time I had had enough,
I charged with my pillow as cover
And the munia realised
How serious was my battle cry
And left very soon out of sheer fright.
But don’t you start a victorious din
There is a confession I have to make,
Long before I could rejoice
Another munia flew in!

Another song for the munia:

A Yearning For Flowers

I was sad when I left home;
I was gone for months and months to come
And all that I feared came to be true
My flowers were left undone.

I had come back to an empty house,
The empty pots — the empty grouse,
And it depressed me to no end
That there were no longer any plants to tend.

The dark ominous clouds of rain
My plummeting mood, the endless strain, 
And as I lay brooding on my couch,
I saw it rising — it was a friendly sprout.

Rising without hope and rising without cover,
Baptised on its own by the heavenly shower,
The shoot shot up and the leaves they shone,
The pot had bloomed with a beautiful red flower.

And I realised
How silly I had been,
It is me who needed the flowers
And not that the flowers who needed me!
And whether it be frigid mountains high,
Or the burning earth underneath,
There are flowers abound on nameless streets
There are flowers abound for those who seek.