It was March and a bird sang for the first time..
About the melancholic saudade of life and the mundane metaphors of death..
A flock of birds flew with him..beneath the scorching sun..
Rain,love and titles showered that monsoon..
His clouded heart was afraid of them, once..
Somewhere in the journey,he befriended the three..
He became the black swan in rain
He became the white swan in love
He became the brother,soul twin and other innumerable titles..
Everyone identified..yet none knew..
He ventured to know the unknown.
He was nested by love and caged by thoughts
Yet he found home within… Leaving everything behind..
The sun came, stayed and returned alone..
The moon always had the stars with him..
Fallen leaves froze beneath the snow..
With the feathers of hope,he flew to the everlasting spring..