What the birds sing

Humans turn

the wheel,

the grind,

for money,

for status,

and then


there are those who feed the birds.


For every computer-slave

asked to do more,

hunched and typing,

output only,


there is a yogi

unbending bends,

softening shoulders,

connecting us with breath.


This morning,

thousands of birds sang

prayers to the sun.


Those who fed them heard

their names sung out

in celebration.

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