A tree died

There was a tree

Is it a Kingfisher? Can you spot it?

I catch a glimpse, movement amidst the rain washed leaves,

A welcome diversion, beauty of its brown, blue and white,

Perks of sitting at the balcony, at Lamakaan.

Today, only a week later,

I sit at the same table, notebook - pencil in hand,

Drizzle and samosas accompany the chai,

But the bird has gone.

Strong machines are cutting the tree,

Slow cruel sounds, of technology strangling nature,

A killing, of the kind we allow, or

A metaphor, like the crumbling haveli in ‘In Custody’.

Now in pieces, it is carried away by mortals,   

The bird loses its Makaan.

Images are of the tables at Lamakaan. Thanks Anuradha for the images.