The Sparrow in my Veranda


He had emerged victorious from a bloody battle. He had bruises all over his tiny fragile body. He was sitting in a corner pondering over his fate. I knew he didn’t have much time to live. With whom had he fought this deadly battle? I thought. Was it a territorial struggle? Or was it to win the heart of a lady? Or was it attacked by a foe bigger and stronger than him? As I tried to draw my own conclusions, I saw him shivering. Feathers had fallen off him. His tender body was exposed. His wounds were serious. He could hardly move. His eyes were closing. The sun’s merciless rays added to his discomfort.



Then a strange thing happened. He took a step forward. He seemed to be in great pain. He was limping. Blood was dripping all over. The gallant little bird tried to fly for one last time. He didn’t want to die just sitting in a corner. He wanted to die by doing what he had always done. He wanted to fly. As he spread his wings, he collapsed. He had no strength left in him to take his last flight.



As the valiant bird lay dead in my veranda, I couldn’t help thinking how easily we give in when faced with adversity. The dying sparrow had never given up till its last breath. In the garden of my memories, it will always live.



-         NZ

25.12.2019

BN: 215






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