I crave for normalcy ,

A yearning to come out of dormancy

Like a butterfly stuck in the cocoon

Like the nightingale that braces for the moon,

I only wish to sing my songs

To take the flight for which I was born

To live the dream that dies with every night

To sing more songs that I couldn’t write,

I only wish to sing.

The clouds continue to obscure the sky,

How will the nightingale cry?

Cry to the white marble in the sky

She only wants to sing so that she can die.

The trees stretch to stir her awake

Stir out the coldness that the seasons now fake,

She cannot forget her songs even if the spring is long gone

It is to these songs that she belongs.

The leaves and flowers who were her mates do not speak to her of late

They stayed for the songs

Turned their backs when things seemed wrong.

She looks up to the sky

In search of her lover who may have died.

Her misery makes the clouds to rain

Revealing the starry sky with disdain.

‘The moon is not to be found’ , cried a pack of hounds

The nightingale could hear it all loud.

As the stars twinkled in her rheumy eyes,

She felt that she will no longer die.

She opened her mouth to burst into a song

Few leaves turned, new flowers emerged

As her vocals surged.

As I hear the nightingale cry,

I won’t let myself to die

Won’t be scared to write the songs that keep me alive.

The flowers and leaves shall emerge and die

I will not stay on the tree for I can fly

Fly to my dreams that can survive the night,

Fly for I’m free

Fly for I was always free.

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