Sudden, as a bolt from the blue,
Came down a humming bird, tantalizing
Skimming down and darting up
As an ever revolving top

It reeled round and round
Before it alighted on a shoe flower;
That hung from a drooping branch
In a corner of my front yard garden

It precariously clung on to it
Like a small pendent on a chain
A sight so cool, now so rare
That lighted up my dull spirits!

      Once they showed themselves up
On almost every sunny day
Promptly after the monsoon rains
When the plants en mass in resplendent bloom

Oh! How I love this tiny bird
Not larger than a bumble bee
Dressed in a cloak of gold and black
Flitting round on fluttering wings

It literally dances and pirouettes in the air
Before descending down closer to its target
      Swirling, gliding n’ moving back and forth
      As if unsure of what it should do

      Then with a terrific **** and swiveling move
      It hovers close to hanging blooms
Balancing itself sans any support
And draws out nectar with its long needle bill

When the zephyrs carry a sweet scent
It flits from flower to flower
And having enjoyed the ambrosial treat
It flies back well satiated like a shooting missile
      
      My eyes fail to capture its lightning move
As it goes whizzing through the lambent air
Quickly disappearing like a mote of soot
Losing itself in the vast expanse of the blue

Being less than an ounce of fat
So light, sleek and well streamlined
It travels faster than the light of speed
In a fleeting dash, moving out of sight

Can any other bird rival it in agility?
Or vie with it in its simple grace?
How cute, this spirit of ‘disembodied joy’
This winged diminutive denizen of the sky!
,

Rap out a rhythm of hope,
Sing me a song of despair,
Write a book of confessions,
Let laughter ring through the air,
Show the world your pictures,
Give them a taste of your words,
Let them drift toward you,
Carrying their stories- pain and mirth

However long the wait,
Whichever path you take,
Whatever breaks your heart,
Whosever heart you break
Let it always bring forth art, expression and form,
The age old remedy for the suffering and forlorn,
     Some say an artist must struggle, and sing songs of their hurt,
I say each individual feels the need to be heard

  So let's sing out our stories,
And adorn our walls,
With paintings in tribute,
Bearing witness to all
There’s no right and no wrong
When you’re sketching a song,
Painting a poem, or dancing along!