She remembers the bustel of wind o'er her face, She remembers the view, beguiling yet artless, Not afraid of heights, nor fear of falls She flew her last flight that summer. Her feet were cracked, but her heart still beat Her eyes were restive, but her mind rebelled For she was thirsty and so were her nestlings And ironically enough, her blood demanded her life, So she knew that it was her last flight. She flew till she could move no more, She flew till her wings were sore, And then out of the blue she surrendered, Free falling , tearing the wind like a sword, Like the dancing warriors of the war. 'Water' she said at last, Her voice was but a murmur, like a secret about to die with her, But wait, now I know her secret! She looked at me as she took her last breath. -Kaush Rajasthan, the land of royalty, welcomes Falmingos every year, but with drying up of the water bodies these innocent creatures have become victims