Maya

little brown birds with grey beaks and a patch of black
on their heads
three of them
drinking water on a pond of water created
by the little rain this morning

as i go near them
they all look at me and then in a sudden
they all fly away leaving some ripples in the
muddled pond

i never think of them as my enemies
they all leave at once
i do not have a gun
or a club or a slingshot

what i have in my hands are rice grains, nothing but rice grains
yes, rice grains for all of them

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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