…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!