A distant gulmohar in full bloom calls the helpless insomniac bird to rest on it's ****** blossom,a miraculous tree with no roots,sprouting out of the ocean so vast,sky ahead without visible end,yet flies the bird to the horizon.
Why do you fly therewards?I ask,says the humble bird to me,this 'i' is only a part of the whole me,a flock riveting with love and life itself,I go to me.
My human tongue tells the bird,a certain end awaits his fall.says the ethereal being to me,I know not what may befall,but I hear sweet voice of one I seek and that have I made my call.