Life, her whim

A little birdie-she sat alone,
Nestled in her roost,
Weaving a dream of spreading her wings,
Flying was her only whim.

Timidly she opened her eyes,
Coy, she was while gaping at the sky.
Trembling at every wind pat
Often wondering if,
She would ever swing.

A little birdie, she did sway,
In the arms of her haven-the sky.
Gliding amidst the clouds,
Prancing in the winds,
Weeping through the thunders,
Staging at every stance
Her own dance.

This little birdie but, just couldn’t see,
Pats were gearing into wafts,
The unruly winds were swamping her thirst.
She did see though…
Her heavenly mansion crumbling,
She did feel though…
Her music fading.

Estranged and aghast she looked for her stage,
No longer though, she pranced,
No longer she danced.
Somewhere in that sin, I think,
She had lost her wings.


Sitting by the sea of silence,
Gazing at the brushes of time,
She groped for something.
Past- a robber, Future-a stranger,
She befriended the present and
“Yes” to life was her only whim.

“I may not dance but
A new song I shall sing.
I may not prance but
A new play I shall win.
I may have lost my notes but
A new music I shall bring.”

This little birdie, she smiled again.
Her moments had changed their path.
Her laughters did sound dark,
Somewhere she had also misplaced her sheen.
But did she really lose her dream?

An epitome of hope,
She found a new castle, the earth.
Saluting the sky, I see her speak,
“I’m doing fine, breathing fresher winds,
Today, loving life is my only whim.”

Elf’s Symphony

The night breathes softly in its darkness.
As if, trying to whisper
A quaint lullaby of wet thoughts.
On the couch of a numb sky.

Innocent dreams, timid desires
Speak through prolonged silence,
See through the blindness it beholds
Engulfing my world in tickles of anxiety.

There…I meet despair,
Clouds of be wilderness and stress,
Challenging, threatening, alarming me,
A cacophony entraps and questions.
“Will you be able to
Reach out to the grandeur?
A mere vision in the black.”
Yes a mere black vision.
Unseasoned tickles fade amidst
Fables of disparities.
Just when…
A twinkling elf meets my eye.

Rendering music to the deaf night
This gaiety, this company,
Sings to me- its symphony!

“I belong to the mother
Who never speaks, yet reveals
An epic of the glimmering hours.
She chaperons me to let you know,
There is scope for the night
too, to glow.”

He braces me and no more,
No more I feel- a waif.
There he goes sprinkling behind
Litters of hope, of valour, of strength.
He’d hushed it in my ears,

“Your vision is bleak but your own.
Nurture it to your tomb.
Till then breathe what you dream.”
A mystic pause and he crooned.
“That’s how child, dreams come true.”

Shveta Vashist