Hey, what was that?
My eyes darted to the ground near my feet
Where lay a tiny sparrow, in death throes.
Another tiny one took a descending flight
From the Gulmohar tree
Chirping endlessly, in a frenzy of despair.
My heart screamed, “It’s not fair.”
Had the one on the ground died?
Was it asphyxiating, had it choked?
Its mate pinged and poked.
“Please get up,” the air, its wordless scream rent.
“No, you cannot be dead, get up, hurry.” Its chirps meant.
On its beak, it pecked away desperately with its own.
Lo and behold, in a flurry of feathers
The tiny body shook itself free of imminent death’s tethers.
Resurrected, by the mate’s treatment mouth to mouth
The lovebirds, bloated with joie de vivre, now flew south