First I hear the Koels
like a strident alarm
gone berserk
their incessant cooo cooo
distresses in the wee hours
Earlier their shrillness pierced as if
through a surround system
Now there are just two or three
calling out to one another
as watchmen on night duty do
The dissenting caws of a lone
crow are drowned out
and he wisely shuts up
like spouses who know
when to keep their counsel
I drift in and out,
in and out of sleep
Then the sweep, sweep, sweep
of a broom on morning duty
scratches out
the remnants of slumber,
with a half-awake mind I rise
to an avian ensemble
Parakeets squawk and
hornbills screech
the golden oriole
has a scratchy song
Babblers babble,
they certainly don’t sing
but none disquiet my soul
as those Koels do
I wonder what it is
that so troubles them
when their mournful cries
rip up the pre-dawn silence
something simmers deep within me
I do not know if it is a memory
that begs a proper closure
or an intense dormant pain
that seeks to be scoured out
their melancholy bleeds
into my subconscious
