Flamingo was an iridescent feather
A whoosh of wind over  lake’s rocks
Smelling of Siberia in  lost thoughts
Lost lovers en  route on Himalayas
Frozen feathers rustling in blizzard.

Flamingo is no longer ice but a wind
Frozen in the lake air,as in  painting
Flapping wings of futility, in despair
About Siberian lover lost to steppes
Now taking a local lover  in the lake.

A bastard flamingo will he be  local
Or will there be a reverse migration
Spunk enough to cross  Himalayas?


About nisheedhi

Retired banker with poetry and photography as chief interests
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