Courtesy: Google Image
On this spring day
today,
the cuckoo has come out;
in its dark body,
white beak;
with its feet
on iron grill design of a window;
with a nonplussed glance
in its red eyes
into human home corner.
Was it ever meant to be seen?
It’s always been the spirit
of the forest green.
It’s always been a voice
ethereal.
Yet on this very spring day
today
the cuckoo shows up;
its throat holding
a blurred forest song
in this concrete jungle.
Posted for Poetry Pantry #344 @ Poets United
sumanar/lekha 