Gone Bird.

Once I had a little bird,
A lovely beautiful bird,
That sang me such lovely song,
So sweet it healed my wounded heart,
With time my ears would tire,
Of music from my parrot,
So I sent her away, “off you go!”
“Away with you, Chicoreco!”,
But every time she’d come back,
To sing me all over again,
For this was all she could do for me,
One cold Saturday evening,
I sent her away again,
My ears had had enough,
And She, a timid thing, obliged,
She left but never came back,
Everyday I leave my window open,
Hoping that she’ll come home,
My heart longs to be healed,
Deep within I crave for her song.

Mother Hen and The Crooked Cock.

Birds of the feather flock,
Birds of one father may not,
The chicken in our coop:
Mother hen sat on twelve eggs,
Eight hatched,
Others stale.
Daily she walks the chicks,
Spots grain,
Selectively feeding them,
Warms them,
She has devotion,
Chicks and hen connected-
Conducting heat,
Sheltered under bulging wings,
Under the shadow dwelling secure.

All this while,
The cock roams freely,
A bird in display,
Majestic in stature,
Strongest of them all,
He sends alarm.
The loose rooster wanders,
He spins around for copulations,
While hens their eggs daily lay,
He fends off the best grains,
Outcompeting weakling chicklings.

See how mother hen persists,
For she must raise her offspring,
And while the rooster crows all day,
He knows not what grain they eat,
And though he’s blessed with longer wings,
He spends his warmth alone,
Every chilly day and every dark cold night.
The rooster grooms,
The crooked cock is gloom.


Ego Burst.


There is something about feeling wanted,
That gives you powers of sorts,
To juggle around with hearts,
Your esteem peaks and you have control,
For once you forget the downside of up-
How it felt once upon a time,
When you were unpopular, a reject.

It is a priceless feeling, exciting even,
Like the world needs your approval to go round,
Like they should now add your name to the anthem,
Because you would sound great in the chorus,
Your value for self quickly appreciates,
You become a highly demanded commodity,
And begin to downplay others.

After a while your market may feel disappointed,
That you’ve become a spoilt commodity,
So some will leave for better quality substitute brands,
Beacuse clearly, you do not measure up.
Yes you may be full of yourself,
But you would be better scaling up, so style up!
Some customers may remain clueless,
But only for so long,
Because the stench of your spoil cannot be hidden anymore,
You will try to polish your surface,
Hoping that no one notices your stench,
But this fact will not last.

I have had a bad feeling about this feeling,
This feeling of you feeling wanted,
That bloats you up then sends you flying,
Till a blade of grass bursts your balloon,
Till you wake up from your somber dream,
And decide to sober up.
But I am afraid that you will have ran out of time,
If you keep waiting for your ego to be pricked,
Sometimes being regular and present like a pillow,
Is perfect condition for you to be wanted,
It’s about being present even when it’s dark and cold.