Seeing the unforgiving drought
racing and roaring in
spouting dust from mouth and nostril
breaking door and window of nest
gathering whatever hands can lay on
migratory birds do flee to the faraways
However dry the zone may be
they remain on branches dead and dying
and none, not one of the peacock caste
to lush places fly
If there are kids without toys
at play in a garden nevertheless
swoop down instantly they will
and drop a feather or two
as per the custom of the tribe.
[translation of "මොනර කුලයෙන්" from the collection "මීළඟ මීවිත" (The next wine) by Ruwan Bandujeewa]
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