Birdsong

Late Monday evening

I’m home early.

Well, earlier than I used to be

back from where I come from.

I’m sitting by the window

which filters the outside

have seen the sun go melting

staining the fabric of the sky

and as if on a cue,

the street lamps have come alive.

It was a bit noisy before

distant planes roared

cars carried people on-board

random strangers on the street

talking aloud, not knowing what is discreet

and birds, thank God for birds

singing and sighing their way home.

But all seem to have gone quiet now

and silence cloaks the world around

only the clock ticks this side of the window

incessant as heartbeat.

In a city,

where I don’t know many

and not many

know me.

Its hands I’ve set on the time back home,

its voice, sweeter than birdsong.

-adee, Monday, 20/04/2015, London.

P.S. thanks to dear friend Vainateya for the gift.
It is a really special one.