the chirping of birds

The chirping of birds

keeps up

its intimate conversations

with me.

They hardly are loud,

just poetic,

silent

and yet so eloquent.

They come and perch quietly

in pristine moments of truth

when dawn descends,

or dusk elopes,

or when the lazy listless afternoon sleeps.

They never force themselves,

just happen

as punctuations

on twigs,

on rocks,

on grass,

bringing their far away stories

wrapped in mystery and mystique,

in intimate whispers,

gently filling

the space with their beauty.