Here’s to the bird that sang to heavens
Who laid its fate for a melody
Who lost its voice in utterance
Who ended for beginning.
Here’s to the lion that sat in its den
Who hoped for light for nothing but feast
Who craved for life with utmost pleasure
Who lived upon denial.
Here’s to the bird that is forever lost
Whose last breath was air’s feeding
Whose body filled with fatigue couldn’t find a tree
Whose remains were consumed by the king.
Here’s to the lion to whom this was no loss
To whom the jungle was a mere puppet
To whom life was a new toy
To whom the bird was only a delicacy.
A moment comes when a question arises
It haunts us for all eternity
Alas, between the lion and the bird
Who is the real king?