My Favourite Possession - Weekly Photography Challenge #2 (+ an original poem)

I don't, really, value material things... maybe, a book, or a photo, here or there. But, I don't have one thing that I'm attached to. And, I realize, that it's not correct to refer to a living thing as a 'possession'. Now, with all those qualifications out of the way, here's a creature that's very dear to my heart, Mr. International, a wild pigeon that I raised on my balcony.

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It takes one month for a feral pigeon to reach maturity, during which time its parents jealously guard it out of sight of predators. And, it's the father's duty to teach the young ones how to fly, for the first time. But, Mr. International was an unfortunate one, and lost both his parents (hawk attacks), so he became rather attached to me and took a longer time to take to the sky.

I'd bring the little guy out on walks with me and he'd remain, perched on my shoulder, to the amazement of passersby. When, eventually, a couple of foster pigeons adopted him and taught the young bird how to fly, he would return to visit me in the early evenings (like clockwork, at 5pm) to hang out on my balcony and groom me -- eyebrows, beard, even nose-hairs! -- as a show of gratitude!

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Then one day, just like that, Mr. International stopped coming back. I suppose, as an adult, he preferred the company of his own kind... But, I still cherish my feathered friend and think, fondly, of the special time that we spent together. So much so that I can say, in the striking words of inventor Nikola Tesla: I loved that pigeon as a man loves a women.

Below, is a poem I wrote in honor of my winged companions:

Empty Nest

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Where the birds come
to catch their breath,
that's where Iive
-on the top floor

Some time ago, I raised pigeons
generations of feathered friends,
watered and fed in a large flower pot
on my balcony, where one laid an egg

As they grew, I'd watch them scan the skies
—for crows, hawks, falcons— and I'd think
of the inescapable vulnerability
of all who live beneath that tent of blue...

My winged companions have all flown away,
at Home, perched somewhere in the vast sky
from where I borrowed them for a time
now, it is my turn to scan the heavens

In hopes of their return, or
in search of some kind of sign?

© Yahia Lababidi