It had pink flowers
Drooping down with leaves
Its slim branches hung like art
We loved it with all our heart..
It homed the sparrows
Who lived in bliss
Rushing in and out through the air
They returned every eve to their lair.
They chattered in loud screeches
The bikers passed by in their breeches
Lovers stood under its bower
The cat merrily sang a song so sour.
A little maiden saw the sight
Picked up the sheds
And put on the right side
Her pigtails hung from left to right
She waited beneath it every day
For her ride.
The women made head bands
All scarlet and grand
The tweets called it home
A better cave than Rome.
Then one day
On a gruesome night
Came the men
To clean it up tight.
They poked and prodded
Cut and burnt it
To save the light
And shrug the little ones’ plight.
The sparrows returned to a barren patch
To find their beds all scattered
Along with the broken shells
That did not hatch.
The ground was a bed of fresh bloom
Butchered to a degree of extreme gloom
The lovers came no more
Neither did the sparrows
Like a ghost undone
The space where stood the lovely Bougainvillea
Now lay concrete like a snazzy little fella.
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© 2019 Tiyasha Maitra