Uncaged

This was a bird
who walked into a cage,
naively, on her own,
and chose to stay there.

The doors of her confines
had always been open.
Yet, she never dared to step out,
or even tried to flap her wings.

No one to stop her, but her apathy,
gripped with fear and ignorance.
She never cared to taste
what waited right at her doorstep.

Many caged birds continue to sing
desperate songs of freedom,
but the uncaged bird
knew not how to sing!

She had never stretched her wings,
nor learnt how to use her voice.
Too comfortable in her mediocre existence,
she had wasted her prospect of flight.

A never-opened mind to possibilities,
is an ignored chance of empowerment.
For the prison of fearfulness and inaction,
is far too thick a trap to break.

Which bird are you?
Have you ever questioned the pattern?
Are you brave enough to break the rules
to knock down generational karmic shackles…

:: This poem questions all those women who choose a mediocre existence over empowerment. They come from an educated family, a free country, with no restrictions. They can wear whatever they wish and step out of the house at will. They get many opportunities to become a better version of themselves. Yet, they choose to be lazy, inactive , do nothing special and just waste their time in a worthless journey of financial dependence.

After many such typical uncaged women in every family of repetitions, once in a generation, comes one different young woman from a contrasting background - the rule breaker, who questions and changes regressive family patterns forever!

Kite and the Eagle

The charismatic Eagle,
is engrossed in high flight,
with his new winged companions…

While the nurturing Kite,
with one wing still tied,
stays back to guard the nest,
stocked with grain for the winter.

She looks forward to the day
when the baby birds will fly out too,
in the vast open sky,
to be ambitious and strong
like their forefathers.

With a hope that they shall remember
the tough love and quiet coziness
of their childhood cocoon,
so beautifully arranged,
kept warm and welcoming
by their mother,
she patiently waits for her turn
to untangle all cords
and bask in the unbound light
of her true potential!

:: As mothers and daughters, we are tied between two generations! We need to "be available" , at times emotionally, at times physically, for all those who depend on us...and that's by far the most difficult job, which we can never quit until its done! :: 

:: Inspiration from Dubai Design District :: 

Where do old birds go to die...

A few months ago, one old laughing dove came to my garden in the morning. He seemed very thirsty. We generally get a lot of laughing doves to sip on the cool waters of the bird bath. This one looked particularly pensive. I watched him from my window. He drank water and then crawled quietly under the raised decking of the zen garden. I thought he wanted to rest in the shade, so I postponed watering the garden to leave him undisturbed. 

After a few hours, my cat woke up and lazily walked into the garden, stretching out and yawning at every step. She began sniffing suspiciously under the decking. I ran outdoors to save the bird from our “serial killer hunter tigress”. But the bird seemed to be still asleep. He wasn't moving at all !!! 

I remembered him drinking a lot of water earlier that morning …And at that moment, I realised he had been sipping his last water. He had breathed his last…He came to my garden to go into deep slumber forever…

I secretly buried him later that day  in one of the flower beds of the community garden. I did not tell anyone. Somewhere I thought, a bird dying in my garden could be a bad omen. 

Where do old birds go to die? This line from the book “The Ministry of Utmost Happiness” by Arundhati Roy, had made me go into quiet contemplation for many days.

And then I realised, the old bird came to my garden to die… He felt comfortable, breathing his last, closing his eyes for the last time , in the soothing shades of my garden! I watched him lay unmoving on the moist bed of soil and leaves. 

I  have had many great memories with laughing doves in this place. A pair had their nest on the terrace of my earlier penthouse. They have even made an appearance in my book, Amaira, the little woman, posing for one of the pictures that compliment a poem! 

I have also watched many laughing doves stop laughing when they were caught by my extremely agile cat. I have seen them being dragged around , hanging out of her blood stained mouth. , with their feathers falling one by one. While I cannot blame the cat for her natural instincts, I was relieved that this dove at least wasn't murdered.  

So when death seems near, just like us humans, old birds try to fly to a calm place, where they feel comfortable to let it all go. He passed away silently, peacefully in his favourite spot. I'd like to believe that. 

Rest in peace, you laughing dove.

Keep laughing.

:: As featured in my book , Amaira, the little woman ::
 

:: Illustrated by my son Abhiir when he was 6 ::