I was flat-hunting
The area is tedious with noises that repelled
Long and dark were the tunnels of my headache.
Suddenly a young sparrow
Alighted in the middle of the road.
The edges of his beak were still yellow
Like undried paint.
He was turning, picking up dust, hopping
Perhaps for the first time.
His beak and his legs, like sticks, are put on trial.
How proud was he with his first self-reliance
His wings were quivering
Like a young plant in cold winter sunlight.
Intoxicated by his first experience
He chirps like a bell.
A dark brown car was approaching.
In confusion he flew low in front of it
He was sent up into the air
Three metres higher than the height of the car.
He fell as though wingless
Like a small and mouthless cotton-wool ball.
In my palm, he is stiff
His body is still warm
How soft his feathers
His open eyes are like two sesame seeds.
I can see no proper shroud to wrap him in
No grave to bury him in.
Inside a new envelope, I sealed him
With the tip of my tongue, with no address.
I put him on the grass solemnly and silently.
I was just flat-hunting
The area was tedious, with noises that repelled.
Long and dark were the tunnels of my headache.