They stumble, they knot
Roughing up their plumage soft
Fate caught a few, some others duck
Like fizz appearing when corner greets
Staining a burn as they suddenly retreat
Sag they do with burden of guilt
Tethered they live with cuffs of steel
Moans culled whilst staring deep
As feathery friends of theirs collide
Oft they swing to a solace trivial
A murmur of peace in a life unfair
Nurtured in vain by men artless
Who foisted these cables
High up in their filthy air.

– Sudha Srivatsan