A bird with a twig on the beak,
Seen flown, toward the sun,
Some said, Ah! It's the fun,
I said-
No it's the hope and struggle,
The process is going on,
Since the time immemorial,
One day, generation yet to come,
May make a nest,
Till the time,
Birds will fly,
This the desire instinct,
That keeps one alive
Let them try,
Think not,
Unto your work, run
it is really a beautiful sight when the birds try to build their nests and these birds would pick up anything they found, even the plastic straws in the urban trees.. Good thought. Thank you Aflab for the poems and the comments..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
..........in the warm morning sun, a bird flying with a twig is beautiful imagery....loved the concept in this write....and the title is perfect....