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.
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