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Personal Note:

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Poem

In the unpretentious backyard 
Of my house— not a home,
Bloomed a bird's nest
Concealed concernedly
In the benevolent branches
Of the dear aged tremulous tree. 

When I noticed the nest nearly,
House felt like a home dearly,
I noticed the humble hatching 
Of the birds—
Life lustrously levitating 
Out of a shattering shell
Of an emaciated egg. 

How gentle squeaks 
Filled the surroundings 
Slowly and sincerely,
My heart hissing 
Gratitude for great glory. 

Now, they are a week old,
Surely, soon, they will fill
Their wings with their
First flight 
From my backyard 
Amply, they'll be gone long
And I'll still be a basic bard
While they'll be reaching
The racing clouds. 

I know not the name,
I know not their kind,
I tried searching,
But I couldn't find
The name of the birds
That are taking shelter
And bedazzling 
My rudimentary backyard. 

How artistically 
Nature wonderfully works—
Blooming and dying,
Escalations and sorrows,
Falling and flying,
Yesterdays and morrows.

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