i hear
the birds fly
overhead,
their chirps, squeaks
and squawks
inviting me
outside
to join the
morning party.

The blue jays rise the dead
to rise with the sun.
Singing the suns song of his divine departure
as he departs those farther from their fathers,
farther towards the heavens,
bathed in heavenly glow.
Bound still to the earth, mourners cry
mourning a loss
deemed lost by the morning light.
Lighting up their despairs
despaired as life moves on,
missing out on a life.

The song a blue jay sings
is the same
as the ballad a mourner cries.

it's five o clock
yes in the morning
birdsong has woken me
an hour and a half
before my alarm
was supposed to
even after another
terrible night's sleep
to-ing and fro-ing
with tossings
and turnings
staring into the blank
of ceiling and wall
not enough comfort
or perhaps too much
on this slumped mattress
to slip deep enough
beyond those initial
stages of slumber
down into REM
i'm surprised to find
i'm not as angry
nor as drained
as i thought i would be
at such premature awakening
i can lie still
untroubled for now
contentedly listening
to the chattering
of these feathered neighbours
an avian symphony
of movements manifold

sweet birdsong consumes
the bitterness of cities
a summer morning

My mind, yes, it stayed afloat, when my ears knew the buoyancy of birdsong in spring,
My heart, no, it was never thus remote, when my eyes would loiter in lyrical landscapes and time did tolerate my wandering.

Despair, it was a burden much lighter to bear, when gilded so gloriously with sunlight's touch,
The air, it was a breathing love affair, when summer's generous joy forbade me to miss you this much.

There is a certain birdsong I keep trying to capture
I hear it from outside my bedroom windows
It is mesmerizing that I pause
In silence
As if holding my breath will imprint the waves
And commit them to my ocean of memory

Akin to the sound of twinkling
One that escapes from the mouth of babes
As they swing and slide
Glide from treetop to treetop
Glee

I have never seen the source
But I picture it as the accompaniment
Strokes of soprano notes ascending
While branches sway with the gentle amihan
Teeter-tottering, rays of light playing hide-and-seek
It is
Exhilaration
An aria of falling
But never of fear
There is always a safe place to land

A song of trust
The peaks and troughs are golden lilies
Dotting the field of frequencies
Rising above dispatches of uncertainty
The orchestra of engine rumbles fade
This concerto is for the tranquil

This, this is the song of my heart taking flight
In a waltz with the metronome of your love
Sparkling

I try my best to capture this birdsong because it encapsulates best our journey
Giddy but peaceful
Giddy AND peaceful
It is the ballad I am trying to write but to no avail
Nature has registered our love
No mixtape, nor playlist, nor digital recording, nor lyric can impeccably transcribe it
A wordless duet
The Universe sings, all we have to do is listen
And dance to our music

Crescendo, adagio, rest
Always a soft landing

I’ve missed this language,
this tongue in my ear of birdsong,
branch creak and rattle,
this chattered water flowing with thought
and question
immobile months have seen my soul ossify
so I’ll embrace this caked mud and heavy boot
and whistle-tread awake

I am trying to listen to the birdsong
But all I am hearing are cars
And screaming and arguments and doubts
And I am trying to hear the birdsong
And I, in focusing on the things that are not birdsong
And being annoyed,
I cannot hear the bubbling brook
And the wolves howl
And the cicadas
And I do not notice
Because I am trying to listen to the birdsong.