The Cuckoo Shows Up


Courtesy: Google Image

On this spring day


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


Yet on this very spring day


the cuckoo shows up;

its throat holding

a blurred forest song

in this concrete jungle.


Posted for Poetry Pantry #344 @ Poets United