A Poem – The Tree and The Parakeet

A Parakeet sits atop a leafless tree on a wintry morning.
Despite many stronger branches below,
It chooses the tip of the highest branch,
Perching comfortably and
Perfectly still.

From the vantage point of the woman watching, its chosen branch seems flimsy – 
Might the bird fall?
Neither the bird nor the tree share her concern.

The tree makes all of its branches available for the bird,
It offers steady strength and yields and bends as required, 
Even its thinnest branches are willing participants,
For any birds that may wish to visit it.

The woman watches the bird and the tree,
Shivering, she puts her hands in her coat pockets, 
There is snow on the ground,
It fell the night before.

The still scene highlights her sadness,
Her melancholy seems amplified by the solitary bird on the solitary tree.
Her inner turmoil contrasted by the silence of snowy winter.
Many concerns murmur inside her,
Noticed and unnoticed.

She sheds a tear for herself and her woes.
Unable to find comfort,
She thinks of the many worldly challenges she faces,
Hidden anguish and unabated wanting stir inside her,
She feels a quiet desperation.

How has her life come to this, despite so much?
Why does she want so?

Why is her heart so heavy?

The answers do not come,
Her mind is too confused
For the simplicity of the response
That the tree and the bird offer her.

Suddenly the parakeet flies away, 
Disappearing into the distance.

The woman is left watching the tree,
Which does not stir, 
It cares not for the loss of its companion of a few moments,
It feels no loneliness,
It wants for nothing,
It simply is.

The woman marvels at Mother Nature and gets up to go.

Just then two birds -
Sparrows, 
Fly swiftly and land onto another branch of the same tree, sitting side by side,
This time they choose a lower, stronger branch.

The same scene entails,
A scene of nothing but stillness, with birds sitting on a tree.
The sparrows stay longer than the parakeet,
But in a while, they too are gone, flying off to the next tree.

The woman walks away to make her way back home.

Perhaps she too is a tree in disguise, she thinks,
Her worldly concerns and desires a bird,
These come and sit on the branches of her mind,
For a while or for longer,
Several birds or just one,
Parakeets, sparrows or others.

What does it matter what type of bird they are?
What does it matter how many come?
What does it matter for how long they sit?

The tree doesn’t mind about these things.