The Nightingale's Revenge (An Original Poem Inspired By A Folk Tale)

By Manoj Vaz Ramchandran

The boy crouched behind the banyan tree,

His slingshot ready to stone.

Taking baby steps from child to man,

He was now ready to break free.

The nightingale had seen the boy play,

Often in the garden before.

Had no fear of coming in his way,

And found no reason to soar.

She fluffed herself against the cold,

And sang her melodious song.

The boy, a hunter now, brave and bold,

Drew the bands, took aim and twang!

The stone sped and did not err,

Accurate, hard and strong,

It crashed through the feather,

And broke the nightingale's song.

Broken, battered, the bird lay dead,

The boy picked up the shattered bird.

Emotions surging in him wouldn't rest,

As he smoothened the bird's chest.

Suddenly, a new sound caught his ear,

Cutting deep into the boy's sorrow.

For in the branches of the tree's rear,

Nested four nightingales waiting to grow.

And through the years that lay ahead,

In his mind alive it was in grief and joy,

The tale of the nightingale, dead,

A crime that killed a young boy.

By Manoj Vaz Ramchandran