The Messenger On The Roof Poem by Rajendra Prasad Meena Jaipur India

A grey feather
catches a slice of morning light,
and his neck—
a little mirror of green and violet—
quietly turns toward the sun.

He walks along the old roof,
one tiny step,
then another,
pecking at scattered grains
as if collecting pieces of the earth.

Once,
the sky knew him differently—
a folded message beneath his wings,
a distant hand waiting
at the end of his flight.

Now he carries no letters.
Only silence.

He sits beside our windows,
soft as a breath,
harmless as falling grain—
a little peace
with feathers.

Yet we close our doors
when he chooses our roof.

Perhaps we have forgotten
that the bird we drive away today
once carried our words
when the world had no wires.