Broken Playground

I was on the way home,
Leaving some old neighborhood.
When I saw that old, sad, Broken Playground
And never forgot it.

The half-buried tires under the see-saw ends were
Worn and weary, weak, wounded,
Played much then, now forgotten.

The once gay-colored slides are damaged,
Faded colors, broken tubing,
All covered with graffiti.
Like contemptuous black vultures.

The swings are heartbroken.
There is no other word for it, I am afraid,
They are sad, their sturdy straps that once held
Lively, bouncing, children
Are torn or mangled.
They look like they want to hold children again.

Then there is the grass,
Not rich or full enough to cover the whole field,
Like a threadbare coat stretched over the bare shoulders
Of some sad, lonely, beggar.

The trees are gnarled grotesquely,
But not by nature.
Maybe all the crying sounds from the playgrounds have hurt them,
Their great branches stunted by their sorrows.

I didn’t hear birds singing,
But I was in the car,
And then again,
Who really cares
For one, lonely, sad, Broken Playground?

Birds

Saw some birds today. Not that I never see birds on other days, but this time I saw a bird-battle. Yes, there was a scuffle.

I was watching from the balcony, actually, staring into the great semi-green expanse that is Kuala Lumpur. Then I saw the birds. There was one, one small, black-and-yellow little fellow, chasing a large, rather ugly-looking crow. The black and yellow bird (BAY bird, for short) was furiously chasing he poor crow, trying constantly to nip its enemy's tail or chest. Round and round they flew, until another crow came to pull his friend out of the melee. The crows retreated to a high outpost on the edge of their marked territories, carefully watching the BAY. The BAY was staring at them too. He had perched himself on a tall tree. A temporary armistice was made.

Temporay was the emphasis, mind you. Once or twice, the crows launched hesitant movements into enemy territory. They didn't win. Chased out again. Then suddenly, out of seemingly nowhere, another BAY bird appeared, to aid his feisty brother-in-arms.

Then I went back inside the house. I guess they are still fighting, chasing each other from perch to perch, until nighttime and their mothers call them to bed.