Songbird

If I don't hear the voice of the songbird,

Before receiving a boon of hope,

My soul starts to ask:

When to feel? How to cope?

I miss the song of the sweet songbird.

His sounds sweeten that which is sour.

The melodies find the most broken of flowers

And cast a cloud of rain which helps them

Smile and sing again.

The songs of flowers share the nature of my sweet songbird.

He sings to them in the way that a mother bear guides her cubs into a barrow

Or in the way that the trees greet each other:

Each note finds its significance not only in what once was, but what will always be.

Today, I hear the songbird, yet he sings solemnly.

Though I know his heart still beats and his wings still soar through the sky,

I still wonder

why

He only sings by himself, and hopes others hear his call.

It's as if he imagines himself imaginary,

So that no one notices his pain at all.