The White Bird

Yesterday I saw a snow-white bird.
Pristine white wings, riding the wind. Like the sails reaping the winds on the Godavari.

I was running in the bleak rain to work.
Stepping over the filth everywhere – rotten produce, piled rubbish, decomposed meat, soggy marigolds (this is Buffalo Street at 7.15am).

I looked up.
Then I saw it – white and pure, soaring against the grey rain.
For an all too short eternity, I soared with it.

Then, I didn’t notice the filth around me.