Long back when I was only eight, it was bright and sunny one winter morning. I was doing my homework sitting outside in the warm sunshine, happily humming and singing to myself. Suddenly something fell from the sky, right in front of me. Just missing me, it fell like a lump of meat all smashed and covered in blood. 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 and gently picked it up. Washed and cleaned it and then put some of my own healing ointment all over it, which mother used to put over my own grazed knees and minor cuts, to make me feel better. I also gave it some water and millet and made it comfortable. All wrapped in a woollen scarf and sitting cosily in a little basket near my own bed, it survived that painful night, twitching frantically in pain, whenever I looked at it.
I was waking up almost every hour to check if the bird was all right.
In few days it was hopping all over the room and within a week it flew out into the open. I was happy for it. Surely I was going to miss it but it can live its normal life now and can do what all other birds do- thought comforted me.
I returned home from the school with a heavy heart that day, knowing well that there will not be any bird to greet me in my room. But how wrong I was. 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. As soon as I would go, the bird will fly out and as soon as I will come back, the bird will be back in.
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 the 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-sill.
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
Nobody was there to play