Nest

they arrive early in the morning
I can see them from my window

scrawny little legs
scrambling to pick up,
whatever they can

at times,
fighting among themselves
for a piece of trash

when their birdlike cries
destroy my tranquility
(while I am enjoying Beethoven's Pathetique)
I shoo them away
but they keep coming back

what are they going to do
with their pickings?
will they build
beautiful, warm little nests?

or will they sell
their pathetic loot
of paper, plastic bags and bottles
to the trash-dealer
in the evening,
and take a sweet brown sugared flight?

these ragpicker children...

(c) Rajendra Pradhan