The singing stream

The streams sing no more
For the birds to join the dance in the air
Their throats the dumping sewage dries
Emptying their stomachs salting their lakes
Collecting her necklaces of shells
Along the curves of its banks

In order they enter in a queue
Baby duckling following mother duck
Into the stream to swim
Drying their wet coloured feathers
On the sun on one foot they stand
In remembrance of he who will come

I heard not in tall years
The morning rhymes on the tree top
The running hen lay down
The scattered chicks digging maggots
After series of flight
The tired hawk could not perch
The coconut tree is cut

The birds have migrated
Away they flew with their melodies
The melodies that crown king
The trees over the shrubs
Along the banks not men
But silence that hover around
Where it once stood, the tree
The missing shade which is gone.