We would worry about tree.
Slum kids mocked no birds.
It lost words from its mouth.
The birds looked elsewhere.
Gardener was grateful man.
He had words for the winter,
Less autumn leaves to rake.

The crows were all exposed.
You saw white inner bodies
Below the wet black feathers
Under a tongue lashing rain.

We would look up a blue sky
To find silver fish swim in it
And no more leaves between.
We worry less about the tree.
Slum kids mocked elsewhere.


About nisheedhi

Retired banker with poetry and photography as chief interests
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