The Birdcatcher

It whistles, sings,

hops on random branches

and flies around.

He needs to keep trying.

Hoping it will know the forest of his discipline one day,

Hoping a tree will emerge a worthy home-

He keeps planting more seeds.

Lost in a dream of spring,

His sweat trickles in righteousness.

Desert sun evaporates away seconds,

The oasis- a vivid reality in his mind,

Illusions are nice sometimes.

The sweet chirping echo overhead-

A signal-

An omen for a better life;

A tune stuck in his ears.

All he knows is his lone toil;

the burns & the rage of his tiring emotions.

But despite his fancies, he doesn’t need that much.

A bit of discourse, camaraderie-

Some fairness?

But surely not any rest.

A vacant sky,

A giant heating torchlight-

His hands keep working.

Greying hairs,

Slipping sand,

His hands keep working.

Head spins,

Eyes dances rainbows,

His hands keep working.

Body falls.

Heart stops.

His hands still working?

The forest is ready.

The tree is an enthused host for the happiness bird.

But who’s it for to enjoy anyway?

Who knows of these soothing waters amidst an endless burning sea?

‘Live for yourself, Dad!’

The damaged boy pleads.

Live…

and let that be enough for them tiny birds-

and us little kids, too.

***

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