Pigeons on A Fence
My dad is watching pigeons
making love on the fence
in front of our house,
he has seen many fences
between houses
between countries
but this one is special,
Here, pigeons descend from their nests,
hanging on an inclement branch
of a thorny acacia,
weaved by straws delicately pulled
from olive branches
collected from many lands
with much labor and love,
From this fence pigeons rise above
and fly in the sky spread over
both sides,
pigeons don’t know
when the First World War broke out
when atom bombs were dropped
when Pakistan was carved out
of India
what happens between Israel and Palestine
what happens on the USA-Mexico border
and when Russia invaded Ukraine,
These pigeons, while flying, find
all lands beautiful
and all the oceans profound
they tread between elevation and profundity
but tears drop from their eyes
when they find smokes rising high
from the chimneys of war-factories,
Now my dad does nothing
but watch these pigeons
and asks his grandson,
“Would you like to be a pigeon?”
the little boy never pretends
that he’s understood the question
but he smiles,
the old man finds some hope
some mysteries
and innocence
in smiles,
who’ll answer his question?
perhaps, only the bird
that will cross the horizons,
My father asks me,
“Have you heard news?”
“Will there be bombardment tomorrow?”
I know something
but I as a good son assure him,
“Nothing will happen.
Pigeons will make love
and fly in the sky.”
He smiles,
I also smile
but I know what I’m doing
I can’t answer the old man’s query.
I’m sure:
I’ve no wealth to match the smiles
of three generations,
I also sit beside them
and watch the pigeons making love,
and I pray, “O God! Save these pigeons.
Save these smiles.”
Here, fence is a fulcrum for love
a pivot for hope
here, fluttering feathers emit music for souls
waiting for bliss on this Earth.
My dad is watching pigeons making love
on the fence in front of our house,
I see his eyes again
and I find them in bliss.
Here, eyes are in love.
Here, pigeons make love.