I was only eight,
It was a sunny winter day and I was doing my homework in the sunny garden, happily humming and singing to myself. Suddenly something fell from the sky right in front of me, just missing me.. I nearly jumped up in horror, it was a wounded pigeon; twitching frantically in pain and its’ chest covered all over with blood stains, perhaps just escaped the claws of a preying bird!
Moved by this painful sight I ran to the wounded bird. Washed and cleaned it and then put some of my own healing ointment all over it which mother used to put over rmy own grazed knees and minor cuts etc. to make mer feel better. I also gave it some fresh water and millet and made it comfortable all wrapped in a wooly scarf and sitting cosily in a little basket near my own bed. I was waking up almost every hour to check if the bird was all right.
In few days the bird was hopping all over the room and within a week it flew out into the open. I was happy for it. Surely I will miss it but it can live its normal life now and can do what all other birds do.That day I returned home from the school with a heavy heart, well knowing that there will not be any bird to greet me in my room. But how wrong I was1. As soon as I opened the window, to my utter surprise bird flew in and was comfortably sitting back in it’s basket.
It became a routine for it then onward. As soon as I would go, the bird will fly out and as soon as I l will come back, the bird will be back also.
for month it went on like this, Everybody in the family was fed up (except me) of the unsightly mess created by bird’s innumerable droppings all over the room. One day as soon as l went to the school, they bolted the windows and door, so the bird couldn’t enter her room and leave the mess for them to clean. But the bird came back as usual on it’s regular time and waited and waited outside, in the hope that somebody will let her in. it refused to fly away. When I came back that evening from the school and opened the window, to my utter shock and sadness there was no bird except a cat purring near by and few blood stains and broken feathers on my window.
She drew a flower
She was a lonely girl
Sitting alone on her desk
World full of people
but no body for her
She drew a flower
And it swayed and swang
She drew a butterfly
It fluttered its colourful wings
But when she drew few friends
Garden remained quiet and empty
No body came to play or sing