Erasure and Amnesia

Erasure and Amnesia

A pigeon in my window
never stays alone.
One after another, a plaintive tirade of rivalry and jostling for space.
And such a small corner too the three of them fight over,
one pushing the other over the edge,
while the third watches
eager to see the battle end.
The battle will not end in peace, nor will there be an uneasy truce.
It has to be a decisive victory for the one who wins and a total destruction
with no chance of survival for the one who loses.
And we, the worshippers of peace, we call that peace love
where battles might end
and the rivals unite albeit in hatred,
 as they stand in awe of each other's might,
to salute in adoration,
not in dread of the threat of an impending doom hovering overhead..
I watch and retreat,
unable to make sense of the narratives which history repeats,
with a single note drowning all others:
the indelible fact is that there is no erasure, only amnesia.