The Samurai pigeon
Rigidly sat over the porch, the pigeon, facing the Western cold winds remained steady. He sat and kept on thinking. The city, his city was covered with a pale yellow blanket of dust and smog. He was deeply disenchanted to this. What these human species have done to the city? What magic is this? It looks so pathetic and dull.
While other pigeons were ignorantly flying and playing with one another and searching for food grains and stuff, he remained fixed and seated. He wanted to do something, at times wanted to call for the boycott of the negligent human race. He may call the meeting of the animal kingdom, tho, what power does he possess in this? He is just a feeble little creature. He was told that when the Gods were distributing powers to species, pigeons were discriminated against, although they are kind and peace-loving people. The other so-called kings are dethroned and caged in the spaces now variously called zoos and national parks. Humans have been clever in doing this. They colonized everything and are ruling the place with an iron hand.
He remembered the stories told by his great grandfathers and mothers of the glory of the animal kingdom once and not too far long in past when all the spaces were covered with green plants and sky-touching trees would be their home and not these rented porches and concrete spaces where they have to live and raise their kids. It is tough for them in the heated summer, rainy storms and cold winters. 'Our race have been cheated', he thought. Times have changed. He was told that the so-called king tribes, Tigers and Lions were brutally and mischievously killed by humans using mechanized guns. They would hide behind and kill. It is said that this was a curse to an evil bloodthirsty Tiger that came true.
The wind grew strong. He looked towards the sun and its blinding light and he felt angry about it. He is so powerless and tiny. He looked at the white cranes migrating northwards in searches of wetlands and moderate temperatures. He thought, why can't he just leave the city? Oh, he is no loser. He is a fighter like his ancestors. How can he leave his city where he was brought up and grew strong? All his friends and relatives are here. Should he ask them to leave with him? What must he do? Where should he start? Can he drink this yellow pale blanket? He once tried and flew high, but the winds were so strong that he had got entangled and fell. That's how he lost some of his feathers.
Should he not ask for the help from the mightiest and the sagest of them, the lonely eagle? They have large wings build of iron. They are used to flying high and sail against the strongest of tides. He has no idea. He kept on thinking. He kept on pondering. He was not afraid. He felt feeble. He wanted to do something. He wanted a miracle. He wanted to fight the humans.
'Oh God, how unfair of you?!', he cried in melodious desperation.
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