The Intruders

In the morning when the sun is a little late in coming
And clouds hang low as though mourning
Rays peep a bit disappointingly
And it is time for the first sip
With gossip exchanges done leisurely .

Then intruder birds come inquiringly
Crows, sparrows, black , brown and grey...
From their night rests in some far away tree
For crumbs and left overs thrown intermittently.

They caw and squeak asking 
And stir the mild morn with their cajolings
They tell us the world is coming in 
To give updates about the latest happenings.

Gossamery moments slip off like dew
It is time to wish haziness adieu 
To wander along with the swell
Of crowds and kin out to splay
Life and labour into their work and play.

By: Meera Panigrahi

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