The Feathered Wonders


               These  wondrous creatures,
                With beautiful  plumes,
               Painted   meticulously,
               On the boundless canvas,
                 From the earth to sky.

               Models of Nature's perfect art,
                Source of joy and wonderment,
               Emanating pleasure with beauty,                                                               All around, perpetually.

                  As if  immersed in the paint,
                 Made in Nature's secret vault,
              Vibrant, glowing and richly coloured, 
                  Each one, a rainbow in itself.
        
                Equally blessed do they sound,
                With voices varied and sweet,
               As  they Chitter, chatter and peep,
              Warble and coo in melodious tweets.
             
         
                Who but Nature is the super artist,
                That  created this  living blend,
                Of colours, sounds, and patterns,
                And put it in these tiny frames?
         
                Oh! How I wish to borrow and feel,
                A  little of this enviable grace,
                Even for a short and transient phase,
              It would indeed be an immense bliss!

.
         
        
            
               

Patriotism --- Is it an out dated word ?

Breathes  there the man with soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said
This is my own my native land!
                                                    Sir  Walter Scott ---- 1771-1872

Wonder why I begin with these queer and curt lines written by a poet from the 18th century in a far-off foreign land ? The poem learnt long back in the school days, has suddenly surfaced itself from the pages of memory onto the present scenario, and is compelling me to pen down my own adherence to it.
    In the first place, I wish to reaffirm the well-established truth that the love and concern of people for their homeland is an almost universal phenomenon.  It is undoubtedly, an inborn, natural feeling of belonging, leading to the unquestionable love for the land of one's birth, that further culminates in a sense of pride in it. The curious blending of these fine feelings can be summed up in a peculiar word called Patriotism.
         The word has such a magic about it that poets all over the world have found it the most favourite subject for their writings. Some of these creations have become immortal in their universal appeal and relevance, like the one quoted here.
                    In  view of the situation prevailing in the country, the   musing of  an immortal bard from a foreign land in the distant past, seems absolutely relevant even today, that one who does not love his native land and indulges himself in activities against its interest  , - by word or deed , -directly or indirectly  ,must be one with 'a soul so dead ' that this soulless person will forfeit all his honor despite owning high  titles ,power  and riches He will spend a worthless life and   at the end of it----

                              doubly dying shall go down
                               to the vile dust  from whence, he sprung
                                   unwept, unhonored, and unsung.