The magic of tiger’s breath faded with a 9-to-5
leaving little dreamers on islands of clouds
watching aeroplanes whisk weary travelers
carrying blank expressions outlined by frost.
A big game hunter shoots an elephant
for sport
earning an ivory souvenir
in exchange for orphans.
Splattered blood stains dry grass
as naive eyes wonder when rain will satiate their
thirst
and wash away the stain of their mother.
On clouds they will celebrate among the imaginations
of the kin of their malefactors
lest they cease to be in the fortyear that follows
victims of ego
never soaring like a prism
reflecting pain into a rainbow
for others to follow in search of gold.
The Bird's Song 