The White Bird

Sitting on the terrace,
Looking at the sky,
I saw a white bird fly.
No, it wasn’t a swan..
Maybe a dove?
No, there was no symbol of love.

I sat there looking around
With nature in its heavenly bound.
Smiling at the bird,
I wished it would sit and talk.
Meanwhile, I started to walk

And then the bird came up to me
And perched on my shoulder
And I stared in wonder.
My wish was granted and the bird sang sweet.
I caressed its feathers,
And suddenly there was a change in weather.

The bird disappeared
And there was smoke-black
Ding dong dang and the old poet sang
“Oh pretty lady, thanks for the gentle touch and making the wish,
I was cursed years ago by a wicked witch”
“Who art thou?” I asked the old man.
“I’m a magician from the incomplete story by the author of Peter Pan”

The old poet smiled with relief,
And I blinked my eyes in disbelief.
Staring at the poetic manly bird with beard
The feeling was really weird.

On blinking my eyes again,
The scene changed.
There was smoke and haze,
And I felt the earth shake.

Now, my friends, you’ll laugh a lot
Because the earthquake was caused by the alarm clock.



It’s silent here
And it’s cold.
I, I feel old
And numb under the blanket of memories.
That are cherishing and yet teary.
It is silent here.
Yet it is so loud
The thoughts’ cloud,
Rains. It pours without pitter patter.
I ask the existence to say something.
In vain it was.
Silence said it all.