Kingfisher's Love

By Ajay Pradhan | July 24, 2008

He was a Common Kingfisher
she, a lovely Crested Bulbul;
when he first met her
he heard a calling
that came from his heart
and so he followed it
and did what it told him to do -
he began to love her.

Four seasons ago,
his love had pulled her to him
she'd flown to his little nest
from ten thousand miles away
from a faraway place
where apples grew big
and trees were taller
than anywhere else on earth.

Kingfisher's love for Bulbul
grew deeper each new day;
his love for her was unbounded
when it was his turn to fly to her in Spring,
he flew in sea storm, against all odds
yet he crossed seven seas
to be with his beloved Bulbul
because he loved her deeply, dearly.

Now four seasons later
the day had returned,
that he'd hoped would be
their first anniversary, that he'd
hoped would be a milestone
that'd see them fly into their future,
side by side and together
high up in the blue sky.

Sadly for Common Kingfisher
the anniversary was not to be
the milestone that never was
arrived, but without Bulbul's love
he'd followed his heart, but she followed
her dreams to the land of big apples
where Common Kingfisher had no place
where an Uncommon Heron held her dreams.

Perched alone on a tree branch,
part of him dead, pensive Kingfisher
looked around at the vast emptiness
and tears rolled from his eyes
lonely and feeling unloved, yet grateful
to Bulbul for lifetime's fondest memories
Kingfisher still followed the same calling
heartbroken, yet he kept on loving "his" Bulbul.

Note:




The inspiration to write this poem came to me very strangely... from two birds, actually. I think one was a Common Kingfisher (top photo) and the other was a Crested Bulbul (bottom photo). For the last one year or so, almost every day, the two birds came to my house ... always in the evening time. They'd always stay perched on the deck railings or window ledge or the roof, always together... playing. They'd stay there for about half an hour or so and then fly away, only to return the next day. But, recently... for the last one month or so, I have only seen the Kingfisher, not the Bulbul. I don't know where the Bulbul has gone. But, Kingfisher still comes every evening and just sits there, sometimes on the railings, sometimes on the ledge and sometimes on the roof… just sitting, not playing. I think the Kingfisher comes there in the hope that the Bulbul would return one day. The sight of the pensive and lonely Kingfisher is so sad that it prompted me to sit down and write this poem at this late hour of the night... or very early in the morning. This poem is dedicated to the Bulbul who has gone missing. (Photo courtesy: Unknown)