Sunday Poem By Anjali De Nandi

Now my look

My dear capital city is very cool.
Now it is under blanket of fog.
The Sun light is not present.
A single street dog.
It is crying on the road for winter’s coldness.
It has no woolen dress.
Why? Because it is too poor, not rich.
Yes, it is not pet of any rich.
A bird is in my balcony on my wooden stool.
In my washing machine, i give detergent.
I say, Welcome in my room, dear!
Then the bird enters in my room, slowly.
I give food in a pot.
It eats it.

And take a photo with it.
Then I hold it in my hands and speak with it, slowly.
Oh, it’s body is too hot!
Not cool.
I feel it’s heart beats.
Now my look is on it’s feathers.
So beautiful!
Yes, now it is talking with me, slowly.
It forecasts about tomorrow’s weather.
Now my look is on it’s eyes.
I become surprise.
Yes, it is blind but thanks god, it can talk.
Now my look is on my gates lock.
That street dog is near of it.

I say, Welcome in my room now, please.
It enters and I give food in a pot.
Milk, hot.
I believe that servicing to helpless is real religion.
The best human personality is in these.
Yes, in these services, the god is present always.
So, I move forward on these services ways.