The Bird Doesn't Fly
It's somewhere between
the sweaty dead mid-afternoon
and the drowned devoured evenings,
I recover from an existential thought
and from a presumed never ending sleep,
In this chair of the decayed verandah,
the sky has fermented into shades
of blue and red and this bird has perched
into my surroundings,violating my comfort
I try to shoo it away,but it keeps chirping,
it isn't afraid of the things I could do
for a lonesome evening,
with small pesky eyes it stares me,
almost asking for a riddance of my sight
and we are now tangled into this small sphere of universe
fighting on an evening for sight of silence.
we seem to had have too much such evenings,
facing existential crises,sabotaging the living
for a cure of loneliness,
but it's inner self now seems to realize
it is a waste now to wait.
we both like matter and antimatter can't coexist.
it then chirps a final time and flies
unlike what I had thought and believed
unlike the title I have written.
it betrayed me for a truce to exist,
like every other human does.
like we all do.
follow - shashere on mirakee
My heart just cries out tonight.
It weeps and longs and loves
With every fiber of my being.
How can a thing so small feel so much?
Hidden away behind someone hardened by life
Just another man. Just another soul.
And that's how we fade away.