The Bird That Left Me
A poem by Sushant Thapa

The Bird That Left Me

Every morning
A bird flies from my hand
It shall measure the sky.
From above,
It shall see me,
An inkblot on a paper.
The tiny tweets
The world for it,
A garden of retreat.
I shall wait
For it to come back
And land on my hand.
I have given
My hopeful peace
To a bird that has left me.
What shall be a
Greater agony
Than this waiting.
I am just an inkblot
Drying on a paper.

About the Author:

Sushant Thapa holds an M.A. in English from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India. He has published five books of English poetry: The Poetic Burden and Other Poems, Abstraction and Other Poems, Minutes of Merit, Love’s Cradle, and Spontaneity: A New Name of Rhyme. He lives and teaches in Biratnagar-13, Nepal.

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