They are shy of sea near a sky
And its beach that washes up
A dead turtle and a sea- snake
Crows grapple with on beach.
But actually they land on sill
To hang upside on a T.V. dish
To peep inside our third floor
Drawing room, at satellite TV
In which exotic jungle’s birds
Chirp their songs on channel.
Confused about strange birds,
They return to their breakfast
Which is largely some worms
Or a grass-hopper in bad luck.
When they are lost for words,
They fly away to another sill.
The Mynah sings neither solo
Nor with its parrot paramour.
The hibiscus 
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