The Little Sparrow By Rama Devi Menon
The Little Sparrow
Abandoned by your mother
I become one like none other
Protecting you from rain and sun
Feeding grains one by one
Waking up to your chirp feeble
Your open mouth no longer a riddle
Sitting petite on my palm
To my soul you become a balm
The flutter of your tiny wings
What joy to my heart it brings
I long to see you fly
Joining friends, wishing me goodbye
The thought brings a silent tear
The separation can I bear?
But still I wait for the morrow
When you become a big sparrow
Where Have The Birds Gone? By Hema Ravi
(Teacher, St Mark's School, Chennai)
"Chittukuruvi muttham kodhuthu" (meaning: The sparrow kissed me) brings back fond memories of our younger
days. Our summers were always spent watching these birds build their nests
in the niches of our homes, in the attic, and any other tiny corner that was
away from human eyes. Today, these birds seem to be declining slowly. The
other day, I took a walk in the Theosophical Society, and once again, I
enjoyed the chirping and familiar sound of these birds. (Long, long
afterwards, American poet H.W. Longfellow's poem comes to mind)
Watching and hearing the sparrows was a feast to the eye and the ear indeed! I would like to share this verse with Young World readers.
Seed eating passerine bird,
Small, pink legged, conical bill
Grey brown, black throated males,
Grey brown with eye bordered females,
Black and tawny streaks on back,
Black winged feathers with white patches
Grayish white breasted birds.
Busying themselves in spring with
Straw, paper, twigs and grass
Nesting on low branches, in our homes, in sheds.
Children watched with interest nests in their homes,
Small birds perched on ledges or lofts.
Today, these have become a rarity,
Where have these sparrows gone?
My Two Guests By Sayantan Modak
Early Morning they come to my room;
Wake me up with familiar tune.
Whole day they stay by my side
Jumping and flying, full of life
Taking food, whatever and when they want
Their countless choices can end your life.
They make cozy nests in my dining hall,
Not bothered whether dwellers are big and tall.
In them, the newborns cry in rhythmic tune,
Make unending demands as they are never full.
With parents busy scavenging and hunting,
We peep in to find "how different are those being?"
"We are born fragile and afraid,
Not knowing what lies ahead,
Our parents feed and protect us,
Able enough to embrace the new world ahead"
I asked myself "What right do we have to deny them of their home?"
When we cut down trees to make our home;
I'm proud of helping my friends to build their nest,
For they are my truly loving and gentle guests.