Those fine winter mornings…
Waking up with the neighbourhood sparrow family.
The whole flock on the old Champa tree;
Sparrow Songs filling those cold, lazy mornings.
Soon another flock, and one more, and another…
The old Champa would beam with joy.
‘What are the sparrows singing, Papa?’
‘Songs for you, son; telling you ‘tis time to rise and shine.’
‘Time to rise and shine.’
Yeah, it was time.
But, time…time moved on.
And yesterday after so long,
the old familiar sound was heard again.
A faint little chirp in the dense forest of cemented bricks.
But, somehow it managed to stay on.
‘The sparrow still sings.’
It was a moment of joy.
A random chirp for others, maybe;
for me, my old diary,
those memories old and lost.
Of all those fine winter mornings.
Of all those flocks gathering in my neighbourhood.
Of all those buds blossoming into flowers on the old Champa.
And the old Champa…yes, it still stands there.
It doesn’t flower anymore, though.
Time…yes, time did move on.
The sparrow still sings.
But for how long..?