Poetry For Fun

On this old bench, how many times I've sat, and told it that life is a story;  mystifying to grasp. The colors of the flowers around me changed with my every glance, and with their hues, my feelings were taken  to a different dance. ​Sometimes I had a friend to share the view. Other times, I kept my own company through. I’d speak of those who sat beside me then, or dream of far-off places, beyond my ken. ​Sometimes I longed to be that patch of green; a part of nature, vibrant and serene. Then I would yearn for different soils to grow, to find new roots where other breezes blow. ​This lonely bench, saw how my seasons changed, and it witnessed how I rearranged  my thoughts.

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.