Sunday, July 15, 2012

A Bat Flew By My Balcony

A baby bat is called a pup or a kit.
And upon this breezy Sunday evening,
I watched a kit flit by my balcony,
Looking so frail and tiny against the rain,
Blowing in from the sea.
I wondered where he flew to.  Was he lost?
Had he gotten separated from his parents,
In the chaos of the evening exodus from their perches?
As colony upon colony rose and,
Spread across the rain drenched sky,
Like ink smeared across a wet watercolor.
Did he fly alone and helpless,
Crying out in a voice so panicked and high,
Only the other bats, all far too busy to care,
And the tired dogs in the streets below,
Could hear him?  But the dogs couldn't help,
Because the dogs couldn't fly. Yet.

Or was he the prodigal pup?
Alone, aloft, and afree!! Afree?  That's not a word.
But I say for the sake of this pup,
And all the pups like him, that it should be.
There he flew, afree at last! Straight into the teeth
Of the howling monsoon.
There he flew, through the volcanic clouds,
Of this city's black-souled pollution.
A tiny warrior on a quest,
To rescue his kind from an evil one-eyed bat.
So massive and grotesque and tyrannical,
That the other bats shivered at the mention of him.
Had he stumbled across haplessly, as heroes often do,
A batty conspiracy so sinister that it left him
No choice but to abandon all that was comforting
And warm and familiar, and fly alone into the night
In search of a legendary bat hero?  With a sword,
Made out of a shard of moonlight and a voice,
So powerful that it could drive an eagle from the sky.

I knew he only flew as all the other bats did,
In search of as much food as he could scream up.
Before his leathery wings begged for a quiet perch,
In a nearby tree, or a nice damp cave.
But I wondered whether he was happy,
There at the end of the day,
As he wrapped his wings around himself,
And snuggled his little fox face into his shoulders?
Or was he lonely and hungry,
On an unfamiliar perch.  Far away,
From the plaintive cries of his mother.
Who searched for him all evening,
Instead of looking for food for herself.
Or did he fall into a contented sleep.
Sated and finally his own bat.
Alone on his own perch.
With just a little space left over,
In case that pretty little female pup,
He'd bumped into earlier by the temple roof,
Decided to drop by.


  1. i was going to say awwwwwww for the little bat- wish i could feed it and find its mummy. But you always have a great way to end your poems...well done...:)

  2. This is quite different from all your other work,yet it has your signature splashes of hope and all those other oh-so-sweet Sufi Soul-esque charm.I love it.

  3. I loved the musing in the second stanza.. The strangely alluring diffusion of human thoughts and philosophy into a bat's life, which begins to fit in almost perfectly.. one can identify with it.. I cud feel the tug of the thread that binds together all souls.. And the end was delightful..the collage of such varied, deep and contrasting musings ending at such a 'pretty' note.. :)

  4. And pups truly are very affectionate and vulnerable little darlings.. I played mum to one years ago.. :-)