Never lonely yet ever alone

--  29 May, 2013. 10:00 PM

Many years ago, in Newfoundland -

Where rocky coastlines mock at sand,

I was a doctoral student in engineering;

Saint John's was my geographical bearing.

From my dorm to department and back,

Was a beaten path; trodden by countless walk.

It merits no discourse, unless and of course,

Some event had happened, fit for lores.

En route to grad school every day,

There was a small pond along the way;

With a smaller island tucked in it,

Pretty sight it was, every bit.

A sanctuary for teeming geese and gulls,

Loud cackling - not a spot for those quiet mulls!

Mostly frozen in winter, this place I was fond,

It also had a swell name - "The Burton's Pond".

From time to time people would sit,

On the banks to feed a bit

To the birds - usually bread crumbs,

Be the weather warm or cold that numbs.

I too loved feeding the birds;

They came to me in ravenous herds -

Competing to catch every bread chunk,

They had their fill without ever to dunk.

One day I noticed an older gull,

Weak, sullen and stomach never full.

His one wing was broken -

Want a pity! I was so heartbroken.

I tried hard to somehow feed him;

But he kept his distance,

And never heeded to my whim.

My affections faced passive resistance.

The sea gull realized his handicap,

But perhaps viewed me as a madcap.

He never ever came to me close;

Safe distance he always chose.

To come closer I tried, 

But this gull was afraid.

My attempt to feed, 

Was suspected for cruel deed.

It was hungry for food,

The bread crumbs tasted good.

Yet it got not a bite,

For it was too weak to fight.

The stronger birds had their catch,

This old gull was simply no match.

Here a shove and there a jostle,

The terrified gull suffered all the hassle.

Tried as I might, among all his plight,

To save him from a nasty survival fight,

Hmm. Into the pond he would glide,

Even if I moved just a little to his side.

He never seemed to trust men.

Preferred the company of his own brethren.

But men - he kept at length of arm,

For him, hunger was any day better than harm.

The fight for food was fierce -

Violence that would cause fears.

The strongest had a message to tell,

Darwin's theory worked here so well.

Our old gull yearned longingly for food,

But his brethren dear were hardly any good!

Yet he found comfort only with them,

But I, to him, was a firm ahem!

Here I was attempting every day,

To feed him a bit - try as I may.

And one day I finally succeeded.

The crumb I threw exactly landed -

Into his open beak it fell;

The good old fellow caught it so well.

It should have been his first morsel in days -

He was so very weak and in perpetual daze.

Then something happened quite so sudden -

To reminisce it would indeed sadden!

My heart shudders even to think;

The sordid happened just in a wink.

A rouge gull amongst the flock,

Tore mercilessly towards this folk -

Pecked and pierced his mighty beak into the throat

Of the poor old fellow - with no pity fraught.

With a violence that shocked me -

Nature is not always fun and glee -

The rare morsel for our old withering rose,

Was snatched by force with no remorse.

My well-aimed piece of bread,

Only added pain to the gull's hunger.

It had to concede with dread,

The rogue gull was a true danger.

Yet the old gull stuck to his flock,

It hung around through thick and thin.

But I gave up. No way could I feed this bloke;

I walked away weary and sad within.

For the next few days as I walked past,

This gull was weakening very fast.

Handicap forced on it a prolonged fast.

Until one day... I saw it once more, but for last.

Right on the pond`s edge,

Beside a nondescript hedge,

In freezing cold, better less said,

My lone warrior was lying dead.

Hunger had killed the bird.

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Ps.:  The above incident happened in the winter of 1994 in Saint Johns, Newfoundland, Canada.