If granted a wish
to be born again
I should love to be born
a little bird.
I must’ve been a bird in previous life
or why should I always dream
of Africa and Antarcatica?
why should else I have this desire
to fly around the world
to get lost among the hills
to mingle among the clouds?
I must have been a bird always
like the ones which always fly
from Siberia to Chilika
from Chilika to Siberia.
When I die I shall pray to Lord
to make me a bird all over again
so I can fly again all over the world
singing of the thirteen rivers
and the seven seas –
or I would glide across the mighty Himalayas
looking for bearded thousand year old rishis
meditating on one leg
praying for salvation –
or I would fly off right to the North Pole
to that Great Ocean of Milk,
where my Lord sleeps happily,
with a smile on His half-closed lips,
waiting for me.
Oh, how would I love to be a bird again –
a coloured bird, a feathered bird
a little bird – a humming bird!
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