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At sixty, still it haunts me like an eerie ghost,
The deed or misdeed, to which I was the host,
At six, too young to sustain the curiosity’s toast,
The heinous act I did, even now I detest it most!
Once the glimpse of two pretty birds of no name,
At home, perching on a branch of Moringa fame;
Caught my childish eye, my mind being the same,
Too small then was I, to decipher the birds’ game!
In no time, there a long pendulous nest was seen,
Amid the dangling drumsticks, in the shady green;
Lo! The duo flew in and off the nest, times umpteen,
And made their flits, nest and the rest, a lovely scene!
With each passing day, eager my little heart grew,
I waited till the next dawn, and as the birds flew,
In all my strength and courage, to my heart’s hue,
I soared up to reach the nest that was wet with dew.
Clasping the bark like a monkey, on the move of breach,
I outstretched myself though the nest was beyond reach,
I grabbed all the purple ones, each of a miniature peach,
Only to fall and break legs and eggs, without any screech!
Was it a sin that I had done with no intent to steal?
Soon, all my physical sores, the doctors could heal;
But not the psychic scars that quite often I can feel,
Of those horrid nightmares flashing reel after reel!
The swarms of unborn chicks and their silky beaks,
Piercing the hand that broke their eggs, in streaks,
All hovering over my naïve head that never speaks,
The real story of my guilt, the rarest of the freaks!
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Image Copyright - Dr. S. M. Basha |
