A playful birdie guy

 

White-browed, fan-tail flycatcher,

A big name for a little bird,

But it’s a sweet, playful birdie

you ever heard,

For hunting is its play,

A lucky bird indeed

for having the survival duty

as a playful booty.

It chases the houseflies,

Dips, dives, sallies,

curves, twists, dallies,

moves, shakes and turns

for many a fabulous airy churns,--

Just a pleasant game

in survival’s name,

The flies don’t fly far and high,

Among them its playgrounds lie,

It chases them along

their zigzag flight with a playful throng,

Seeing it earning its bread,

as if chasing a playful thread,  

one may mistake it

as a cutely drunk birdie guy.

From a little distance in the yard

lucky is the bard

to watch the antics of this little hunter,

a funny, frolicking punter.

You don’t see the fly it’s after,

You just marvel at the

airy hoops, loops and even somersaults,

The fly is very quick

and to catch it with a childish squeak

one has to be the master of airy display.

It doesn’t mind your presence much,

Soothing, friendly such!

A very friendly bird,

It’s just bothered

about its playmate, the fly,

And isn’t shy

to fly near and around you,

You feel the soft brush of nature’s hue

as it sallies very close,

You get an easeful dose

of wellbeing and joy,

An untamed bird so near, ahoy!

An untamed bird flying so near,

So friendly and dear,

You feel good

And come out of your sad mood.

It gives me good company

in my little yard,

A few lines of nourishment

for the thirsty, hungry bard.

A perky, agile bird

it flicks its fan-tail

before going for the airy sail,

It moves sideways even while sitting,

So much full of playful energy,

A happy, lucky guy

to have its hobby as a profession,

A rare bird that

makes hunting look like a play,

All enthusiastic, spirited and gay,

It stirs the same cords in me

whenever I Look at it,

I marvel, muse and forget

the seriousness of life

among all the human strife,

How playfully it carries it survival duty

with playfulness and loopy beauty!