a pair of bulbuls always plays in my courtyard
strutting, with their wings stretched outward,
picking up a crust, or a grain of rice, frolicking
dipping in the earthen pot, kept for their drinking.
every evening I wait for them, my palms full of grains
they are tamed enough ,and eat them without any strains;
as long as the pair is with me, my sadness are forgotten
on my lonely courtyard ,with flower roots which are rotten .
but today, when the greener one ,swiftly swoops down
and gobbles on a blue pansy , mercilessly , I really frown;
I pick up the largest pebble ,and throw at the raptor
aiming straight, with an intention to kill, like a captor.
late at night, on my bed ,I lay thinking and my mind flies,
‘’it’s the law of nature, and the butterfly was happy before it dies’’.