…And The Flight Dies In The Wings

 

At the seashore

the scarlet rays of the setting  sun

slowly dipping down into the water

touch the shimmering waves.

 

The oil keeps on gushing

spilling and contaminating

the vast waters of the ocean

the cool breeze used to pass

through my hair gently

now it smears my hair

with the smoky oliy mist.

 

In the fading oily sun light 

the silhouette of the flying birds

with black and thick feathers

with dangling fligt trying to fly

and the flight dies in the wings.

Along with the shore, sea-shells,

driftwood, pebbles and oil blobs

birds are stuck there

their feet their feathers

all stuck in the oily mud

their tiny soft feathers

pushing in vain get heavy

with the sluggish waves,

the waters became black

the air is thick with

the smell of the oil.

The birds try and try to fly

but get planted there forever

cannot breathe cannot eat.

Countless thousands are dead

countless will be dead soon.

 

I fear what would become

to my feet walking along

the shore on the oily sands

if I dip my feet

in the sea water at the shore!

What would become

the bone white sea -shells,

honey drift wood,

multi-colored pebbles,

the golden sand,

my bare henna-colored feet  

my footprints?

Life is dying

and the flight dies in the wings!   

KanyaKumari