HUSH LITTLE BIRDIE I Poem By Rudrangshi Saha ,14,Navi Mumbai

HUSH LITTLE BIRDIE

Amidst the symphony of eager chirps, a baby crow took its chance.

With wings so black and a soul so pure, it flew with dreams to endure.

Who said black is blighted? Who said black’s repellent?

A nest up high, where desires reside, sought a place where dreams collide.

But as it grew, its ambitions drew, and it found itself ecstatic.

The nest grew small, its family called it, and the crow found itself in a freefall.

Kicked out from where it felt connected,

The crow tried to chirp a buoyant song,

It found a hole, which he now called home.

And mourned from inside.

Yet people judged, their eyes unjust, condemning what they couldn’t find.

In shadows cast, its feathers greyed, a heart weighed down, and its spirit swayed.

In a nomad’s land, a caw unfolds, where clothes tatter and wallets sore.

Once a jolly little crow, now a living corpse;

Amidst the turmoil, it tried to strive, to find some hope, and to feel alive.

But with every step, another sting, nothing more than a piercing scream.

It toiled hard to sustain its kin, but penury’s grasp would never thin.

With each new day, a flickering hope is blown away by dawn’s first ray.

For many hearts behind fake smiles, hide aching tears over countless miles.

The crow, too, wore a veil of glee, concealing depths of misery.

Its family’s eyes, pure and bright, oblivious to the crow’s daily plight,

Amidst the caws and wings held tight, the crow would hide its inner fight.

To shield its brood from sorrow’s glance, it wore a brave facade in perpetuity.

Days turned into years, and still it roamed, with strength and solace, its only home.

A little birdie, weary and worn, is fighting a battle of its own.

Yet through the murk, stars still gleamed, and in its soul, a dream still beamed.

Of soaring high, beyond the gloom, to find a place where hope would bloom.

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