Tony just brought <br />a pigeon <br />in his house <br />put it in a cage and <br />feed it <br />some grains <br />beside a bowl of <br />water <br /> <br />Every night since then <br />i cannot sleep <br />hearing always the sound <br />of a sobbing woman <br />grieving <br /> <br />i keep telling myself <br />that it is just <br />a pigeon temporarily <br />adopting to a momentary loss <br />of her freedom <br /> <br />Horrible nights <br />lots of horrible nights <br />the sounds of groaning griefs <br />are penetrating the walls of my mind <br /> <br />until one day <br />the pigeon died and Tony buried it <br />beside his house <br />now the pebbles are giving me <br />the silence of the dead <br />the air is so quiet <br />looking at an empty cage <br /> <br />somehow i feel guilty <br />not about the pigeon but about Tony <br />well, the story is quite long <br />what business do i have there? <br />last night i was thinking <br />what if it was Tony who died <br />and the pigeon went out of that cage <br />and buried him there <br />beside that lonely house? <br />shall i not hear the grieving sounds of <br />that pigeon again?<br /><br />RIC S. BASTASA<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/that-pigeon/
