Leptoptilos Part One: Greater Adjutant

Swallower of bone, how far flown,

from the purview of the deceased,

souls of Brahmin priests who kept

you upon colonized Calcuttan streets,

and wept, oh stork, at your ascent

upon flowing thermal obelisks.

 

Now, down, winged warden

of refuse, rag piles and pickers, you

groan at dead children, your curse
cast across valleys of collapse, scraps

of unwanted memories, trickling rivers

of misery over which you rule indefinitely.

 

Repent now, your unknown sin,

that which took you far from them,

which made you split, pale-faced,

the sky, the past above, this hell below

belies your greatness, in your toes

grasping waste, the truth of progress.