This post is again courtesy the prompt words given by the very kind S.T.J on Twitter. I owe whatever I write these days to the kindness of her being. In an ideal world I should have written a book having all this encouragement but the blocks in my mind always get the better of me.
The frost-bitten birds
flapping their feeble wings
holding maps in their eyes
of the warmth of loving waters.
They dip and dance,
nest and mate,
before seeing their love life curtailed.
Their tiny hearts quiver and quail
with every echo of a gunshot.
They cannot do life nor love
and are left longing for a place
they will never forsake.