Most people in London have an intolerance towards pigeons. They cover a lot of our historical architecture with excrement and huddle together in groups on the streets. It probably doesn't help their image, that most urban pigeons are dirty and threadbare, missing toes and feet with the occasional bit of plastic bag tied round their foot (must be the equivalent of a ball and chain to them!) But I am one of the few people that don't actually mind them. I appreciate the fact that they were an invaluable tool of communication during the 1st and 2nd World Wars. Messenger pigeons were used regularly to carry urgent messages to allies, across dangerous enemy territory and a majority of them didn't survive the mission. The most famous and heroic messenger pigeons of that time were 'GI Joe' and 'Cher Ami'.
On one occasion, I was walking around Hyde Park and came across a strange, bearded guy wearing a turbon. His eyes were closed and his arms were outstretched in a meditative pose and he was holding two large muffins in both hands. Pigeons had settled all over his turbon, hands and arms. It was an odd thing to see, but what struck me in that moment, was the deepfound calm and respect this guy had for the birds. And in return the birds were acting in a very gentle and trusting manner with him.
On another occasion I was eating alfresco at a restaurant on a warm, Summer's day and pigeons had gathered round my table. People were throwing the odd bit of bread down to them and they were tussling with the bread, until it had landed in the road. A car came speeding down the road and hit one of the pigeons so hard mid-flight, that it's wing got ripped off. By some fete of miracle, the bird had got into the tree, but it's whole wing was left in the middle of the road, amongst a flurry of feathers. I felt so terrible that this poor bird was stuck up a tree to die slowly and painfully.
A Pigeon's Tale
The sun holds no warmth for me
And the coldness of my peers,
Penetrates my feathers more deeply
than the damp wind ever can.
People's feet kick me away,
A mark on their landscape.
And I wonder as I wander,
Further away from the comfort
of a known hardship,
Whether my load will lighten,
as I trace the embankment with my sorrow.
In the distance, a light;
Brighter than anything I have ever seen.
Majestic, wings of angels
Mesmerises and captures my attention.
I am held;
Pulled, trance-like towards a flock of swans.
Ceremonious and dignified in presence,
They glide as one, creating
graceful ripples in their wake.
Ignorant of my advances,
They refuse my request.
I travel to the lip of the bridge,
heavy in heart, and allow myself
to face the mercy of the wind.
To the final death.
Crashing through wind and water,
I fall into a flurry of blanched feathers.
My eyes blink open;
Cradled amidst a sea of white,
I am home amongst the majestic flight!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KsiUhc3xMS4
Lily Basnet
On one occasion, I was walking around Hyde Park and came across a strange, bearded guy wearing a turbon. His eyes were closed and his arms were outstretched in a meditative pose and he was holding two large muffins in both hands. Pigeons had settled all over his turbon, hands and arms. It was an odd thing to see, but what struck me in that moment, was the deepfound calm and respect this guy had for the birds. And in return the birds were acting in a very gentle and trusting manner with him.
On another occasion I was eating alfresco at a restaurant on a warm, Summer's day and pigeons had gathered round my table. People were throwing the odd bit of bread down to them and they were tussling with the bread, until it had landed in the road. A car came speeding down the road and hit one of the pigeons so hard mid-flight, that it's wing got ripped off. By some fete of miracle, the bird had got into the tree, but it's whole wing was left in the middle of the road, amongst a flurry of feathers. I felt so terrible that this poor bird was stuck up a tree to die slowly and painfully.
A Pigeon's Tale
The sun holds no warmth for me
And the coldness of my peers,
Penetrates my feathers more deeply
than the damp wind ever can.
People's feet kick me away,
A mark on their landscape.
And I wonder as I wander,
Further away from the comfort
of a known hardship,
Whether my load will lighten,
as I trace the embankment with my sorrow.
In the distance, a light;
Brighter than anything I have ever seen.
Majestic, wings of angels
Mesmerises and captures my attention.
I am held;
Pulled, trance-like towards a flock of swans.
Ceremonious and dignified in presence,
They glide as one, creating
graceful ripples in their wake.
Ignorant of my advances,
They refuse my request.
I travel to the lip of the bridge,
heavy in heart, and allow myself
to face the mercy of the wind.
To the final death.
Crashing through wind and water,
I fall into a flurry of blanched feathers.
My eyes blink open;
Cradled amidst a sea of white,
I am home amongst the majestic flight!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KsiUhc3xMS4
Lily Basnet
