A thread of humdrum playing havoc
H e s i t a n t l y you pull it through
Images of birds, as notes of love
Posted on birdwatchers’ walls
You call them holy books of colours
Unwritten notes of Sargam, pitching you high
To places you haven’t gone; you tie the soul
To little plumage bodies, hollow of heft
They soar and glide and give you unbroken prospects
You tie your heart to coloured threads
To weave its feathers in orange and scarlet
In yellow-grey and black, no great work,
Minutes of happiness playing eyes, fingers
Oil pastels and knife, chiselling out
Tints you don’t need, polishing hues
That add to texture and shape
An art to keep life in lines, contours
While the heart dives into oceans and skies
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