A bird was humming,
not far away.
In search of nectar,
in midst of May.
I looked from yonder,
at beating wings.
A sight of wonder,
in early spring.

A little bird,
with a slender bill.
Who seeks a rose,
in field and hill.
From every flower,
he takes a sip.
With ease and skill,
he makes the trip.

As He devoured,
some honey flower.
His thoughtless mind,
devoid from power.
There are two things,
he seeks in life.
To earn a meal,
and find a wife.

Goraiya
by Pragya Bhagat

The Hindi word for sparrow is goraiya
It skips across my tongue and lingers in my mouth like the aftertaste of toffee
Goraiya
I like that word
If I had to draw a picture of a sparrow with sound
My word would sound like goraiya

You tell me they travel in flocks
That they like bathing in the summer
By hopping off a table and skidding in water
You tell me that the males are pretty but the women run the show

They don’t chirp among strangers
These sparrows
They avoid eye contact and move only if you’re very
Very
Still

You tell me about the time you tried to catch them
With a rope and stick and some rice
Sometimes they didn’t let you nap in the day time
Because their symphony was louder than your dreams

How I see the sparrow, you say
Depends on who I am
A child will play their games
An old man will listen to their music
So I wonder what I’ll see
In this mirror of a bird

She makes eye contact if you’re still
Because that’s how she knows you’re listening
She lets herself be caught
So that she has something to fight for
Her favourite part of the day
Is when she learns a new word
That skips across her tongue
And lingers like the aftertaste of toffee

She flicks from puddle to puddle
Sharing her words with those building dictionaries of their own
Of course she won’t let you nap in the day time
Because the sun is out
The trees have cracked their knuckles
And today’s the day she sings her symphony

Some stories aren’t written but felt
They melt into your skin like a mother’s smile
Some stories are so simple
They open windows inside us we didn’t know still opened
And all it takes is a word that sounds like its picture

You tell me that sparrows don’t chirp among strangers
We are no longer strangers

Synesthesia - Red
by Kashi

Quickening red sad emotions well as I stumble
Speechless until red becomes the rage
Quickening rage thundering heart takes over
Till the release of tornado leaving destruction
Along its wake

My sweet canary just loves to sing,
with his yellow beak and golden wing.
His lovely songs will make you shake,
all other tunes will sound a fake.
But as I sit and think alone,
NoI feel my heart is made of stone.
My precious bird could be my sin,
I keep his soul well locked within.
For every soul is born so free,
I doubt your mind will disagree.

          Summerlight sunflight—
     singsonging songbirds singing,
winging blue heaven.

Breakfast at my table
on a damp warm morning
with birds in the trees
each fluttering one a note which sings,
on high and leafy hidden wings
that beat to lift in heavy air
chained to the ground
I cannot share
their joy in endless headlong flight,
that freedom brought of skies delight
and so for now, to me it seems,
I must content myself with dreams

Birds have no shape,
they are everything
and they are nothing
wind and rain and trees
the scent of the breeze
tall dried grass
seeds which land
on full and fallow ground
an ocean heart that beats within us all
the sound of nature’s call
whatever the future holds
when shadows fall
and footsteps are dust
there will be birds

Finding muscles I didn’t know I had
I sit on the carpet and stretch
God that feels good
Flexibility returns with patience
Oh yeah, that’s me
As I curve backwards
To touch my feet
My deep breath returns
Opening my heart
I meditate on ****** sensations
I am alive
Girl, do not waste your life
Sometimes the birds
Sing only for you