Giving Wings To Dreams

One fine winter morn a little  bird perched on my window sill. Its sweet twitter was the sweetest sound ever in my vicinity heard. It was more black than the raw coal with a beak as yellow as a mustard field. Its presence was enough to lift the pall of sorrow,  Its chirping was a sure shot  promise of a happy and cheery tomorrow.  The little bird was my guest for just a while as it gave no indication of prolonging Its stay. No nothing whether a cup full of maize, corn or tempting wheat could interrupt its flight. I had no other option  but to honour its right to flight. I wish l could borrow its wings and reach the heaven to greet my long lost father from a distance may be. Since, l knew that was something that wasn't ever supposed to be. The only thing that my heart wished was to pray the little black bird with the yellow beak to sway, Where lives my child and hum its sweet song all along his way. The way on which he will have to tread upon all alone so far awa...

Morning mist will cast its spell  Over the vale, Over the hills, by leisurely descending towards the land, Bringing heaven on earth by its mystic magic wand. As long as it lovingly brushes the mountain tops, As long as it lingers on the heights where fearless kites and eagles soar , mist is a welcome sight. But, it being master of its own will If wishes comes quite down the hills, as if to fondle the low lying grass. It veils the view around, It flimsily blindfolds every eye, that ventures to look from its balcony  towards where  a few days back stood the hope. Hope of being in the view of the long lost dear ones, Whose hearts once beat in a unison. Though separated ages ago they had not stopped beating for their cherished ones. Mighty mist seems reluctant to hear their pray that it should stay majestically high in sky and shouldn't hinder the reverie of the broken hearts by stooping down.