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Twitter Of Nostalgia

today my heart echoes
the collective chirping of domestic sparrows
who woke us up each morning and
brought us homeward in the evenings...

hop and skip like playing hopscotch
she would enter through the door
turn her neck in all dierections
as if to greet the guests(?)
sometimes she would slip into
the room with her characteristic ease
through the window bars with bits and odds
tightly clutched in her beak to reach the
roof of our rented tiles and
we would hurry to switch off the whirring fan

for years she and her friends woke us
every morning with the tiny wings flapping
and the small voice box twittering
every evening the twitter would drive
us homeward from our rustic games

every summer afternoon was a spectacle
as she would swoop down or come hopping
to hang on the edge of the small earthern pot
dad would arrange for the winged friends
they would take their fill and flip-falp the wings
in the small puddle as if it's nobody's business

in rains they would settle under the
slope of the roof with watered feathers
looking still browner...

we grew up amidst their chirping

sometimes in the afternoons
a ticktack would wake us from
our siesta, my little wings
amused at the other in the mirror

every cozy corner, including a book rack
was befitting enough to breed her clan

eating like a sparrow, grandma would say
as we snatched tidbits from their hidden counters

they're so much part of our lives
making the roof their home
at times a small ball of cotton
or a handful of grass or an egg or a baby sparrow
would dropp on the floor or on the beds

how my pillow would soak my tears as i
every night recalled the tale of a gentle sparrow
that lived in a cow-dung home with the proud crow
as the neighbour living in a nest of twigs
when the rain washed away the sparrow home
the crow refused to give her any shelter...
i would imagine how the lonely bird
flew alone with the babies trailing after in that rain...
i would sob uncontrollably...

where are you my sparrow?

'what's this picika gola! '
('picika is sparrow...'gola' is mischief)
we would be shouted at
when our voices lost control

and when we shifted to an urban habitat
how we missed the twitter and the chirping
we all silently carried them concealed secure
in the several folds of our hearts as we now
wake up each morning to a jagged silence
ringing loud from our empty hearts...

where are you dear friend?

some seventeen years ago she hoisted
our spirits when on a fine morning when i was
feeding my toddler she hopped into the room
and made sure i fed him proper...
'tha! ' the little boy would greet her
with food filled mouth with the twinkle of
a toddler that reflected in my eyes

what time sense you've, my winged friend!

pesticides robbed her of her food chain
deforestation deprived her of her habitate
supermarkets stole away her grain
concrete jungles cut her off from everything else

modern day life, communication networks
and the ensuing radiation pronounced
a death-sentence...

whenever brute force is applied
on the innocent and the hapless
'picika meeda brahmaastram'
(a thunder bolt employed on a sparrow)
goes the idiom in my mother tongue
and that's exactly the injustice
meted out to these meek creatures

my lovely little sparrow
hidden secure in our hearts
how much i long to see you, hear you...
tell me, will you gain your wings back
if i offer my heart on your altar
to fill the world with
your twitter and chirping?

20mar2010
21.55hrs

poem by Indira Babbellapati
Added by Poetry Lover
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