Tiny green bird
who flew into my room
fascinated by the fan,
ran circles around it
and took joyrides on it
like it was a carousel.
Tiny green bird
who refused to leave,
was it the rain
or were the indoors too cosy?
This is not your life, little bird.
Fly out,
live in the trees,
I know these walls
can suck you indoors.
Fly out,
don’t flit about here,
Your wings may crash
into the blades of the fan
or into the walls,
you will not always be
as lucky
as you’ve been.
Tiny green bird
who refuses the grain
I’ve kept in the bowl.
Is red rice too healthy,
too exotic for you?
Oh, I see now
from the curve of your beak,
you’re the nectar sucking kind.
Sorry,
there’s nothing here for you.
Spend the night here maybe,
wait out the rain,
but fly back
to where you came from,
where your little form
could fit in better
and your flitting about
would yield more returns
as you’d jump out
from one flower
and dive beak-first
into another.
Grains of thought 