Poetry For Fun

A late-nesting house sparrow gathered some straw, twigs, and grass, to build a home that would last. This home, meticulously built, was very narrow; a safe place for the unflinching sparrow. ​Weeks and months had quickly passed, and nobody could forecast  what would happen. The nest witnessed hopes and dreams, and life's winding streams. It witnessed moments of silence and sadness; it was full of joy and madness. It always held the sparrow's weary feathers, and eventually helped it understand what really home meant. It whispered songs to the sparrow, to soothe its fears, in an incomprehensible yet very familiar language. ​When the hard days finally ended, the sparrow's heart felt mended. Now, it is ready to fly high in the sky.

The rhythmic motion of the sea waves washed away my worries;  their analgesic attributes  soothed my spirit,  and alleviated my agonies. When I looked at the sea's blue shades,  my concerns sank into its depths;  my body floated unafraid  on its gentle hands. The sea is a reflection of my soul, its various moods mirroring my own; sometimes turbulent, sometimes calm. Perhaps I am soaring as a seagull; flying freely towards the horizon's lull, flapping my long wings in any direction,  yet still bound to the perimeter of the ocean.

You are adaptable, it's true, to thrive in soils of varied hue. Your roots can call with grace, the rocky or well-drained soils,  their place. However,  this doesn't mean, my friend, that you can thrive till your journey's end in any soil. Some places are waterlogged. Their poor and compacted soils deny to provide the air and space that your roots require. These places are quite unsuitable to reveal your potential light. You need to acknowledge wisely which place is appropriate, for your survival.  And where your acorns  can become a long-standing oak tree.

Those two blue scorpion grasses,  rooted deep in my soil,  were shining like bright beads,  free from turmoil.  They were the essence of my serene spring. Each of their sprout was a herald  of warm days that they bring. They swept away my troubles, like crystal-clear oceans,  and chased away my gloom.  They soothed every care,  and their beauty  could vanish some of the burdens I bear. One of the finest jewels that my garden could own,  they were filling my soul with compassion,  they shone... But one cold winter’s storm,  so cruel and unkind,  stripped away their splendor,  left sorrow behind.  It tore through my heart,  left it shattered and bare. Now spring feels so hollow —its essence,  is nowhere. What now will bring life,  what now will it bring?  Without my dear flowers,  what blooms in my spring?

The seasons change swiftly while the long-lost visage of the sun  is slowly gracing us with its presence. During this time,  the migrant birds dream of  returning to their homeland. Their chirps can now be heard from afar if one listens carefully for the hidden melodies  in the morning breeze. (What a celestial symphony!) Days pass by unnoticed.  The clock is sometimes like a broken record stuck in the same place. Other times, it races like an untamed horse, speeding in its frantic pace. The growing ranks of newcomers look around with curious eyes, unaware of the stories yet to arise. In the meanwhile,  your path is getting shorter. Yet with each step you have taken so far,  your sidewalks have been transformed into  a heavenly garden. Your surroundings have been filled with  the scent of daisies and rosebuds.  You still cannot help but wander  enchantedly, as you ponder:  "What will the new season be like?"

All the places that she has ever been to are cherished in her  young spirit. Maybe she walked down THAT street  one thousand times. Even though she can't remember  what she did there each time, she feels like  she knows that street  by heart  as a part  of her collective memories. She knows that  after the traffic lights  there is a statue  waving to her  across the street. She knows that  there is the black & red coffee shop at the end of the road.  She can even discern the bitterness of their coffee (merely through the power  of her thoughts). As she walks in the streets, all her memories bloom  like the thirsty flowers do after moistening their lips with sacred water. She stars to find the little pieces  of HER jigsaw puzzle. This discovery  makes her heart feel a warm sparkle of sunshine. The one that you usually feel  during springtime. She went away with a cheerful grin, reminiscent of...