1.
A group of visionaries massacred forests to make a concrete jungle,
felling trees to make brick and mortar structures, calling them
modern-day foliage even though they replaced the real ones that sprang organically from the good earth,
with one inanimate box atop another and
people perched on their balcony branches like birds,
twittering away in their fluent excessive words,
under skies that were barely visible, yielding rain that was rationed,
six drops a creature if they were lucky and if not,
they died in makeshift homes under air conditioners,
wishing for a few drops of errant nectar trickling down their parched throats with their beak-mouths agape
2.
The real birds circled the slaughterhouses where their nests used to be,
flying inside the presence of a bemoaning absence,
their warbling reaching half a mile long in waves of a forlorn nostalgia,
presenting from their delicate throats,
the sweetest of symphonies, the saddest of them,
bending at right angles from the corners of buildings, bouncing
off of its walls, crashing into lamp posts, shooting
their colossal loss into the traveling skies and climaxing into a bruised concert of their species,
if translated into vibration and color,
their songs would show as bursts of light swirling into play, haunting in their echoes,
the people birds ignored the lesser beings,
we are the aristocrats they preened, deserving of ruling all blue and green.
God listened intently, he reflected deeply, reserving his judgment.
3.
The Kingdom of birds huddled together every single day in awaitance of His Judgement,
before giving their own since none appeared to be forthcoming.
Bats unleashed black rage, poultry sneezed in fury
and a mega wrath hit mankind, in all its glory,
humans lay on curbs chocking on feathers sticking from their mouths,
their possessions lying redundant in closets and their pride
auctioned in markets with no takers.
The kingdom of birds shall dream once more,
as man resurrects whole grasslands and forests again,
this time round, with their roots and branches, entwined to his lungs,
unless of course, he dreams up another death wish for his kind
