yet

flying back
I glided in..
soft landing in the courtyard
amongst my brooding friends..
We all ..
Birds of one feather .. the pigeons and I
the only grey..
walking amongst the lot.
I find my way amongst the
hustle
and
bustle
to where he was sitting ..
every morning..
‘Fore sun up
he was there …
perched on a rickety wooden chair
staring at nothingness
blowing smoke rings
up towards the heavens..
he never smiled nor sang two words
and hardly looked at us wings..
Just quietly sitting and forming rings …
as we arrived in droves..
a few stray hounds,
and three wild cats..
even a lonely mongoose
were there…
Our congregation swarmed towards him
not sure why..
‘Cause he never fed us seeds
nor crumbs nor morsels..
yet we looked at him..
and I coo’d ..my grey reputation.

But today … the chair was there .
But he not..
But why..? But where ?
But still did he need his part of the share ?

…Only the strum of guitar
…then a distant song..
If I was a carpenter…
A beautiful song …

I now sit on another perch
and wonder about that beautiful song ..
And where is John..?
Long Gone …

Bonnie Bhasin
On Robert Plant &
John Whitmarsh Knight
15 Nov 2020