A Burnt-out Aircraft at Dusk

Hidden in the thicket of trees
the aircraft looked
like a dark giant at dusk.
It was not an aircraft, infact
but mere ribs of it
left after the crash –
bare, hostile and scary
like a wounded vulture.

He knew
nobody had been there for years;
penetrating the shoulder-high wild grass
he went on.

He is quite a timid fellow
but a bizarre curiosity
had drawn him there;
with his head lowered
he entered the portion
that must have been once the cockpit –
here sat the pilot
here co-pilot
and here navigator :
the navigator
under whose burnt-out seat
was a bird-nest –
three chicks
trying to open their eyes;
the navigator had just got married.

Then he came to the cargo-chamber –
fifty paratroopers
how gracefully they used to
d
e
s
c
e
n
d
gradually :
fifty mushrooms
growing gradually;

here stood Naik Ram Singh
here Hawaldar Aslam
ready to float in the air.

On the half-burnt wing
had shot up a tree –
looked from the distance like the English neem;
the leaf was not bitter.
He thought
he would send a leaf to Salim Ali
and ask the tree’s name –
then he realized
Salim Ali was an expert on birds
not trees.

He was just through all this
when his foot struck something hard.
He bent :
an army water bottle
as it is
despite a burnt-out outer felt.
He brought it home
as a memento.

On the way he thought
displaying it on a fine stand
he would impress his friends;
and tell him about the navigator
who had just got married
and the chicks
who under his burnt-out seat
were trying to open
                   their eyes.


Shailendra Shail