She perches on a power line looking into the distance. All
She sees are concrete structures and scurrying men-ants.
Of the pond that she once fished in, nothing remains. In its
Place rises a shopping mall thronged by aimless men and
Women who don't know what to do with their money.Alas!
Scraps of bread and rotting meat they've thrown in the bins
Have replaced the fish she and her kind once had caught.
Of her friends and family, a few remain. They were once a
Band of spirited Kingfishers, who'd race one another to see
How many fish each could scoop out of the water. Alas! They
Are reduced to scavenging from trash-cans, all them, a proud
Army of kingfishers reduced into a group of stragglers lingering
On in life, hunger writ large in bulging eyes, on a lookout for a
A rat, a change, from the rancid scraps they find in trash-cans.
A once proud army of hunters is now a band of scavengers,
The bright colours of their feathers dulled by the grey smoke
That covers the town of concrete blocks. Cheated of their homes,
Beaten but not defeated, these kingfishers eke out an existence
That would put to shame those greedy men that robbed them of
Their Home but then, they don't have hearts, for they only count
Cash in hand they don't even see the Kingfisher on the line!
And thus is born the Urban Kingfisher, a hardy breed of birds
That've made towns and cities their homes. They live lives they
Never meant to live, nest in empty buildings, the bright flash of
Their wings a pleasant surprise in a dusty smoked out landscape
Of greys and blacks (the reigning shadows). She gazes out into
The distance and dreams of a pond she once fished in and her
Friends raced to grab a lusty fish in her beak as a trophy for all.
