A Bird

Each evening, I watch this bird—
Perched upon the same ledge,
Humming a melody to itself.

Sometimes, it glances my way—
Eyes twinkling like distant stars,
At other times, its gaze drifts far,
Head tilting, wings rustling—
Conveying tales I’ll never decipher.
Stories of the day—
Sweet, bitter, enigmatic—
Forever beyond my reach.

I speak to it, my voice,
Meeting its gaze,
Nodding in rhythm with its nod.
I ask— "Why no home?

Why drift with the wind’s whims?"

I scatter grains in offering,
but come dawn, they lie untouched,
and the bird is gone—
a whisper fading with the morning light.
The bird, gone without a trace.
I wonder—perhaps it’s found
A new nest, a safe haven.

But by dusk,
There it is again—on the same ledge,
unfazed, unchanged—
its quiet presence waiting for mine.