by Ahimaz Rajessh
the bird that swoops down
tearing through noxious clouds,
being no bird of prey, lives only
on chemical, nuclear wastes.
the beats of its wings, they say, change
the course of impending cyclones.
its beak digs through containers shipped
from global north, buried in global south.
its breath lights up spying glo-geo
drones & electromagnetic spectrum.
the whiff of its feather, they say,
brings to mind deaths during wartime.
its talons catch an orphaned child kneeling down
aiming bleeding stumps at vandalized idols.
the shrieks from its throat would seem to
intercept extraterrestrial communications.
the indescribably hungry child starts
to feast starting from the breast of the beast.
the skin upon which lion’s incisors cannot
leave a mark yields to the teething child.
the child bites through it until there appears
from its breast to the belly a baby-sized hole.
still in flight its eyes fall off but the wound of
the bird mends & through its sockets the child sees.
stumps transform into talons, legs into wings
that tear through ashes of flesh & toxic smoke.
the child, or the bird, that is double becoming
drops it droppings on one base, lies on another base.
if you so much as take a shot at it, they say,
the mountain, or the forest, turns into ashes & dust.
the bird births triplets as & when it dies exploding
before imploding to set free a trinity of winged baby projectiles.
it picks at random any base to sleep in, away from
the treetops, away from canopied rocks.
the power that becomes, it seems, being no firm
strategist, is that much afraid of the powers that be.
the bird that cannot die at will,
that will not cease looking for loss,
hovers below pale clouds looking for
any child aiming with what remains.
Ahimaz Rajessh (@ahimaaz) has been published recently with Burning House Press, Big Echo: Critical SF, Paint Bucket, Speculative 66, formercactus, Dream Pop Press and MoonPark Review. He lives in the Union of India.