Author’s note: I wrote this poem when I was way too young, when I was still appeased with the likelihoods of rhymes. So, suddenly, out of the blue, when I had a thought about writing poetry, what I could produce turned out to be some good hybrid between a rhyme and a poem; something I still very much like, for its sheer fantasy.
The woodpecker flew towards the sky,
No one near to ask it why.
Fact was, it didn’t know it was goose-chasing a lie,
So, it didn’t feel bad, let alone shy.
The lie was, it could get tons and tons of food,
Beyond the sky, the sky being made of wood,
Not having brooded whether it actually should
Do it, it convinced itself it was for its own good.
After long, it could go no more,
Its wings got heavy and sore,
Suddenly, an airplane came there with a roar,
And cut the woodpecker’s wings into four.
As it was dying, it thought about its greed.
Greed was bad, but a common breed.
As it moaned its foolish deed,
The tons of food, now not in need.
