The Blue Kingfisher
A dusty road, part earth, part mortar
Plastic bags, paper cups flattened underneath
Motorcycles, pushcarts, scampering children and
Shoes trampling on with and without purpose.
The sun beats on people- rushing, dawdling,
Encased in brown and yellow walls
Papered in old posters promoting
Grinning politicians, mouthful of tobacco, white skin.
Overhead, crisscrossing wires find their way
Into tiny rooms and give life source to people.
A sudden screech rings out, and immediately
Dissolves in the life of the road. But rings again
From the throat of a blue kingfisher.
The blue kingfisher does not dissolve. It pierces
The eye as it gazes down and calls again
To humanity- with or without purpose?