Acceptance and resignation: A poem 

On the electric lines, the pigeons gather 

The cockatoos and rosellas, on the rooftops, scatter 

They have their fortune in their wings 

In trees, they nest, with their season’s hatchlings 

Who feels the pangs of their constant hunger? 

Or where they shelter in the rain and thunder? 

Do they live in the rainbow of instincts’ prism 

and have no despair and fear taint that wisdom? 

Do they feel the immense duty to survive? 

And to simply let go when death arrives? 

Do they cry their pain when the weather is rough? 

Do they ever complain that the going is tough? 

Does the crackle of an egg give them happiness? 

When a fledgling takes flight, is it their bliss? 

A cloud of descending ravens clears my doubt 

That acceptance and resignation are a practice throughout