Bird song plays ping-pong
Around the misty valley.
Wings miss the spring’s kiss
And snakeskins slither slowly.
Sir says, “Do surveys.”
And turbans turn to tally.
Dozer comes closer
Into the hardwoods holy.
God staffs His odd laughs
And tribals come to rally.
Hills fill with kill spill
Of stifled rifle volley.
Minakhi Misra 