A Cuckoo Built a Nest

Isn’t there an adage? “If a cuckoo builds a nest the sun will rise from west.” However, the strange thing that happened to me was, though it was not large or small in size, or cozy or love overflows in it, I built a nest. When a cuckoo flies over and sits on the nest to push the egg lain by mother bird out to the ground to die, and when cuckoo lays her egg in the nest the mother bird worked so hard for her offspring, the sad mother bird, which lost her own egg, sits on it to brood and raise her foe’s offspring. And when chick hatches from egg it opens its grotesquely large mouth that is greater than foster mother’s head and demands foods as if to swallow the mother if she doesn’t provide enough to fill its gluttonous stomach, even though foster mother so busily flies over in air with her wearied wings and brings plenty of foods to feed her foe’s famished little devil. When the chick grown to twice the size of foster mother it flies away from the nest to find its own mother, which raised her chick by killing other’s offspring and stealing their place in the nest, and therefore, though possessing maternal instinct do not know the true meaning of motherly affection. The foster mother, however, worriedly moves around branches, glides through trees impatiently and calls with heart-rending cry to bring her chick back to the nest, the chick the foe left her to rise. “Is that why the cuckoo cries with vomiting blood once in a blue moon?” It’s strange because I built a nest, though it was not large or small in size, or has its own address, or even a space I can squeeze in, but the thing is, I built a nest.