The Sparrows

Upon the sparrow’s song that wakes the sun I’ve come to remember what happened when the moon broke in the sky. Do you remember? Do you see me lick my lips because I’m remembering the taste from yesterday—of your lips upon mine. Yours are like curls in coconut clouds. Here your essence drowns in the ecstasy of a dream.

I feel that my words travel like empty vessels across the perplexed wind. Like somewhere along the way they get jumbled in the frost of winter’s sorrow and the decease of city’s pollution.

And yet the bird still sings.

She sings even when she knows the world is crumbling beneath her delicate feet. She sings an earnest pitch—she sings for him. Her little prince is flapping his heart’s wings to her melody. Pure with every beckon. Come back to my limbs, out stretched and searching for the time when our hearts ticked the same. Remember me?

I am the cold slither of the sea weed between your toes. I am the twinkle in your eye when you wake alone. I am the breeze curling your dark chocolate hair. I am the reason your hands are itching in the cold. They remember me. Do you?

Close your eyes and remember the time we sang through the moonlight in a dream. Close your eyes and remember a shared smile just because it felt real. Close your eyes and kiss the air and remember all the kisses we shared. Close your eyes and hold me through the echo of solitude because I hold you.

Tell me, my sparrow, do you sing for the memories—do you sing for me? Do you hear me when I remember all the things left undone. Do you hear me when I remember all the things we have done. I think I’m falling in love for you—is that foolish when it’s falling in all the wrong ways. I close my eyes and smile alone because it feels real. I’m smiling even though the love is fading and I’m not sure what I’m holding on to. I feel myself break, my voice cracks, I’m trying to keep the melody chiming across the wind. But it’s fading with the pollution.

Sing to me, my sparrow, the melody you heard me say before time collapses our hearts. Let the barbwire not ensnare you when you come for me. Let the hawk not steal you from the heavens. Let the bullet dart past you from the hunter’s greed. Let the foxes not trap you in their fangs and let the winter blizzards or the spring monsoon not dampen your spirits.

There just beyond the sunset and the sunrise, just beyond the chaos of yesterday, is where you’ll find me waiting.