Bird, you will be mine in an ageless world | Sunday Observer

Bird, you will be mine in an ageless world

8 January, 2023

My cherished flying bird, Within the chasm, within the fissure, within the gorge, within the gulf of the uncharted exotic mystery infinite probabilities may evolve.

You may blow your wings in the boundless swathe to rise and loom from within, a new soul up to the minute.

My cherished flying bird, within your secured wings, novel propositions that have lived over a century come into being.

An evolution in the offing, ultimately a mortal thriving from within.

The glaring and striking ambivalence and scepticism of not knowing concedes and avows a man to cosset and coddle in burgeoning to clutch and clinch the defiance which is not clogged and wedged by foretime’s benchmark and gauge to advocate and accept a spick and span inclination and demeanour that revives and rouses the conscience and intellect.

Within the compass of conventionality and docility, restraints are set: nevertheless within the gorge of my unknown sphere you may coin a new rout and subjugate.

But, my inspiring bird, while being with you, I feel mundane, corny and bromidic.

I need to rattle the core on which the world sits.

I feel so grim and gloomy, another new year spent loathly.

My soul encounters with infinite distress, anguish and misery of things unrevealed, bizarre and uncanny.

An ancient saga, decorated with prime and vintage evocation, a hautement qualifie and bien-forme flyer.

I was destined to come across you.

Through the time, through the blue skies, you and I were indulged in a blissful romance: songs sung, poems composed, ballets made, wars fought, awards won, medals offered.......

The notion of you, the entirety of you and the collectively in you cannot be negated and quashed.

Your survival and your being fuels my survival and my being.

You fly through the gloomy clouds on a rainy day.

You land through the mist on a windy day.

You see rain drops on your wings.

My eyes reflect my love for you.

You clench my heart.

I get caught by your hatred.

But still, I manage to move to the very rhythm of ditty.

To declare my love in the very same way that I crimp.

Every oscillation that I make elicits fervour and devotion.

In the nethermost, intense and profound motion of our Waltz and Foxtrot durably and enduringly I contemplated.

You will be mine in an ageless world.