By Pramod Rastogi
Ecstasy fills your morning sermons,
And words flow from your beak
Like bullets from a machine gun
At a frightful cadence that belies
Your tiny size with two tender eyes.
Your freewheeling words tear asunder
My early morning sleep ritual
That allows me to soak in the miseries
Of our planet and its inhabitants,
Elevating me like an icon.
Yet I dream to see the world
From your perspective by undoing
Your uncombed melodious flow
To understand why you speed up,
Alas, to slow down all too hastily.
Your escapades are legendary.
You fly from one end of the globe
To the other, noting in detail
Different colours of human misery
Which you store in your memory.
Even if I do not understand your sermons,
There is no divergence in our positions,
And that's such an enlightened feeling.
Coming from the tree next to my house
The tonalities in your chirps heal me.
Pramod Rastogi is an Emeritus Professor at the EPFL, Switzerland. He is a poet, academician, researcher, author of nine scientific books, and a former Editor-in-chief (1999-2019) of the international scientific journal Optics and Lasers in Engineering. He has published over ninety poems in international literary journals.
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