The blue-rock pigeon folds wings,
And shoots like a missile through
The air. How do I know it is blue-rock?
On its body at the back two thick black
Lines drawn by Nature the Painter of us all.

The house-crows fly normal to
Land at the edge of the pool,
I am finished swimming at Lands End
And one of the crows hops to drive away
One of the pigeons wanting to drink water
And then the crow takes bath, and shakes
Itself free of water, and flies away.

The sky above is spotlessly blue,
Lit up by the Sun from the East
On this Sunday of February in 2014
Up above I search for pariah kites,
Regretting the name - why pariah?
None there was: while I am about it,
The first kite comes from above the hotel
In the usual sweeping majesty
Soaring, soon to be followed by another
In much the same style.

Around I see trees of the palm family,
This particular one we call palmirah
In our South, and toddy comes therefrom.
Our grandparents' caste of Nadars
Were employed on these trees
For their livelihood and my imagination
Takes flight with them, climbing flapping
Legs around the trunk and lifting up.

Up above now the blue sky
Is filled with crows, and kites.
And some pigeons, who fly like boats
On water, shaking side to side
But no question of capsizing,
For they all enjoy their flight. 23.02.2014
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Daniel Trevelyn Joseph

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/flights-3/