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!