Love Is A Traffic Light
Love Is A Cheap Perfume
Transcription of Coos
“Papa, which is your favourite?” Cooper junior asked enthusiastically as he sailed with his parents seeking fresh targets. “I am particularly fond of bald heads.”
“No, Junior,” Papa Cooper corrected him. “We pigeons are not in the business of having favourites. We must…”
“Oh that’s a headfull of rubbish right there,” Mama Cooper interrupted him. “I know it very well that you love to park your droppings on long hairs. You love to watch it get tangled in their locks as they turn skywards to hurl profanities in your direction.”
Papa Cooper gave an embarrassed smile.
“What about you, Mama? Do you have a favourite?”
“Junior, more than scalps, I love the human face.”
“The face? Isn’t that the most difficult?”
“It is. That’s what makes it so appealing. The thrill of landing one on their faces as they are relaxing in our soft, green grass is irresistible. Oh just thinking about it gives me goosebumps.”
“Have you ever landed one?”
Mama Cooper shook his head, “But you know what? Some day I will.”
Eavesdropping A Conspiracy
“I have here with me a fully legal and binding written agreement that states that I am the sole owner of the sycamore, and that anyone found trespassing will be liable to pay a hefty fine.”
Kevin, the raven was visibly agitated and made his point in no uncertain terms in front of the unkindness. The other members nodded in agreement.
“Look at how my fine feathers are turning grey from worry. It’s an intentional breach of my rights and privacy; it’s a conspiracy against a conspiracy.”
The above words were met with wild and thunderous flapping of the wings. One member raised his beak and asked if there was a way to get back at the perpetrators.
“Oh yes, there is, there is,” cried Kevin with a glint in his eye. “We only have to turn to our loud cousins for inspiration. Their caws are highly annoying for the frail ears of those grotesque mammals; we simply must replicate it. Our lower croaking sounds cannot do.”
A member objected to the notion by stating that it was not within their means.
“Bah!” Kevin cawed, dismissively. “One can achieve anything if only one wills it. We have a living example right next doors. Who would have thought that pigeons could direct their droppings precisely onto their targets? That is now possible thanks to a little practice and determination.”
A Love Letter To A New Pair Of Shoes
How It Feels To Have A Job
I Am A Seed
I am a seed
Yes, only a seed
Do not be fooled by my stature
Or by these long, wavy arms
Dotted with green leaves, winged creatures and crawling critters
I may seem imposing and intimidating
Beautiful and artistic
A masterpiece of nature
But believe me when I say
I am just a seed
Deep inside this solid trunk
Is a heart that may not be visible to your eyes
But it is there and it is beating
With the same beats that beat when
I was the size of a pea
In that heart lies a voice
That tells me despite the years gone by
I am still a seed
When I close my eyes
I reflect upon the time
And experiences I have had
I remember some of them most vividly
Most of them make me smile
Yes, when I close my eyes
I forget who I really am
I become a child again
The darkness is a magical time-machine
That takes me all the way back
Before all the twigs came to be
Before all the flowers blossomed
Before I sprouted
I lose myself in those thoughts
Blurring the thin line of reality
As I contemplate about anything and everything
Darkness Upon My Cells
The Queen Ant
Who lays a hundred eggs a day?
The queen ant! The queen ant!
Whose orders must we all obey?
The queen ant’s! The queen ant’s!
She’s our queen
Has always been
She’s the one
Who owns the throne
Who is always right and so perfect?
The queen ant! The queen ant!
Whose pride and honour we must protect
The queen ant’s! The queen ant’s!
Her authority
Is a priority
Her every word
Must be heard
The queen ant — we adore
The queen ant — hail evermore
Her prestige is indisputable
Her dominion is unquestionable
The queen ant — we adore
The queen ant — live evermore
Who’s the leader of the soldiers?
The queen ant! The queen ant!
Who’s the leader of the hunters?
The queen ant! The queen ant!
Who’s the leader of the workers?
The queen ant! The queen ant!
Why, Heart, Why?
Frank Solanki 