I had a green parakeet and Sparkle was his name.
When he died thirty-five years ago, it was a shame.
On the last day of April, I found him dead in his cage.
I bought him in 1981 and he died of old age.
My one parakeet outlived three blue parakeets that belonged to my mother.
Sparkle was my one and only parakeet, when he died, I did not buy another.
I owned my parakeet for over nine years and he was a great pet.
He died 35 years ago today and he was a bird who I'll never forget.

The flash of parakeets in the rain,
in darkest Ealing,
raise heavy souls away
from the drizzle,
up from the road
long enough to gift
a memorable
collision.

Dreams

of a colourful parakeet all to myself have come true
a nest drawn on lime wall peels
crooked lines tracing clipped feathers
A home / A cage, a sunset
rainbow dreams -- locked at two ends

as the morning breeze wafts
over fragrant jasmine and bela

and the parakeets roost
in guava trees

and the slant of the mango tree
welcomes the sun on dewdrops

i hear the call to prayer and my heart supplicates
my body trembles and i kneel

my hands fold in prayer
my fingers run over the holy beads

and as my body surrenders
to words as old as time is told

i feel the rivulets of sweat down my back
my body continuing it’s dance of offering

and as i hear the raucous chatter of the birds
and the sounds of the house stirring

i give thanks for another morning
and give in to the pleasure of being