Few years ago
I sold my ancestral house,
Where my childhood companion
Swooped every day
from the margosa tree
in my courtyard
to peck grains
from my hand
A pigeon....
Recently my old servant
told me that
when that tree
was being chopped
he wept and sobbed
in his nest
and refused to come out
That pigeon...
After a long effort
Finally
He was also
ripped with the tree...
He was a pigeon
not a trader,
or else
He would have also
sold his birthplace
for money
and bought a new nest
on some other tree..
Like us,
would have been proud
of some other
country...
