I saw a rubber tyre
Squashing her
Against the concrete road.
She lay there drowned
In her own blood
like your memory
Inside my heart.
Why should a Mystical bird
Of Attar and Ruzbihan
Stoop so low
to human level?
Maybe she lost her beloved
To some caged-hand.
Or someone made a wooden artpiece
Out of her home.
Maybe she was suicidal!
Tossing her head to every wall
In this concrete jungle.
Maybe she lost her melody
To car horns and loudspeakers.
Even then dear Bulbul
If you ever have to kill yourself
Jump off a poet's thought
Like this.
