The song has died
It fledged out of my hearts Nest,
painted in purple stains of wild berries
It wasn't red, such a relief,
for I would have burnt the world!
Must have been a grand ceremony—
always an outsider for my own Heart.
So this Bulbul, who made her nest in the safest spot on my balcony and kept brooding and feeding her chick on a rainy day, made me question my entire existence !
Watching over my soul, my Moon —
waxing towards a final act,
agonizingly close.
Often I dreamed our farewell—
to hear you, and be gone.
To hear nothing, again.