Outside the hotel window, unenlightened pigeons
weave and dive like Stukas on their prey,
apparently some tiny insect brother.
(In India, the attainment of nonviolence
is considered a proper goal for human beings.)
If one of the pigeons should fly into the illusion
of my window and survive (the body is no illusion
when it’s hurt) he could be taken across town to the bird
hospital where Jains, skilled medical men,
repair the feathery sick and broken victims.
There, in reproof of violence
and of nothing else, live Mahavira’s brothers and sisters.
To this small, gentle order of monks and nuns
it is bright Vishnu and dark Shiva who are illusion.
They trust in faith, cognition, and nonviolence
to release them from rebirth. They think that birds
and animals—like us, some predators, some prey—
should be ministered to no less than men and women.
The Jains who deal with creatures (and with laymen)
wear white, while their more enterprising hermit brothers
walk naked and are called the sky-clad. Jains pray
to no deity, human kindness being their sole illusion.
Mahavira and those twenty-three other airy creatures
who turned to saints with him, preached the doctrine of ahimsa,
which in our belligerent tongue becomes nonviolence.
It’s not a doctrine congenial to snarers and poultrymen,
who every day bring to market maimed pheasants.
Numbers of these are brought in by the Jain brothers
and br ought, to grow back wing-tips and illusions,
to one of the hospitals succoring such small quarry.
When strong and feathered again, the lucky victims
get reborn on Sunday mornings to the world’s violence,
released from the roofs of these temples to illusion.
It is hard for a westerner to speak about men and women
like these, who call the birds of the air brothers.
We recall the embarrassed fanfare for Francis and his flock.
We’re poor forked sky-clad things ourselves
and God knows prey to illusion—e.g., I claim these brothers
and sisters in India, stemming a little violence, among birds.
Nice post to read on Delhi. Find more Delhi University Campus News and latest information & happening regarding Delhi University Students on duspecial.in
Wonderful post. Loved it. Loved the flow and rhythm. I long to share one poem written about New York by a poet from Nepal, whom I found at the AD. Here it goes:
New York
by Bhuwan Thapaliya
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Rated “G” by the Author.
My tribute to NY
——————————————————————————–
If I could
knit my kisses
into any form,
it would be
the New York City:
the soft slung
lips of peace.
Welcome to New York,
Behold! The romance
life unfolds.
All is wonderous
in the haven
of forgiveness,
the neon dreams
haven’t passed away
and all that’s left
aren’t shades of gray.
The bald eagles
are shaking their hips
over the balcony of bliss
yet again.
Copyright 2009 Bhuwan Thapaliya