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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=411416" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Twitter Of Nostalgia</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">today my heart echoes <br>the collective chirping of domestic sparrows <br>who woke us up each morning and <br>brought us homeward in the evenings...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">hop and skip like playing hopscotch<br>she would enter through the door<br>turn her neck in all dierections<br>as if to greet the guests(?) <br>sometimes she would slip into<br>the room with her characteristic ease<br>through the window bars with bits and odds<br>tightly clutched in her beak to reach the<br>roof of our rented tiles and<br>we would hurry to switch off the whirring fan</div><div style="margin:10px 0">for years she and her friends woke us <br>every morning with the tiny wings flapping<br>and the small voice box twittering<br>every evening the twitter would drive<br>us homeward from our rustic games</div><div style="margin:10px 0">every summer afternoon was a spectacle<br>as she would swoop down or come hopping<br>to hang on the edge of the small earthern pot<br>dad would arrange for the winged friends<br>they would take their fill and flip-falp the wings<br>in the small puddle as if it's nobody's business</div><div style="margin:10px 0">in rains they would settle under the <br>slope of the roof with watered feathers <br>looking still browner...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">we grew up amidst their chirping</div><div style="margin:10px 0">sometimes in the afternoons<br>a ticktack would wake us from<br>our siesta, my little wings<br>amused at the other in the mirror</div><div style="margin:10px 0">every cozy corner, including a book rack<br>was befitting enough to breed her clan</div><div style="margin:10px 0">eating like a sparrow, grandma would say<br>as we snatched tidbits from their hidden counters</div><div style="margin:10px 0">they're so much part of our lives<br>making the roof their home <br>at times a small ball of cotton<br>or a handful of grass or an egg or a baby sparrow<br>would dropp on the floor or on the beds</div><div style="margin:10px 0">how my pillow would soak my tears as i<br>every night recalled the tale of a gentle sparrow <br>that lived in a cow-dung home with the proud crow<br>as the neighbour living in a nest of twigs <br>when the rain washed away the sparrow home <br>the crow refused to give her any shelter...<br>i would imagine how the lonely bird<br>flew alone with the babies trailing after in that rain...<br>i would sob uncontrollably...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">where are you my sparrow? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'what's this picika gola! '<br>('picika is sparrow...'gola' is mischief) <br>we would be shouted at<br>when our voices lost control</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and when we shifted to an urban habitat<br>how we missed the twitter and the chirping<br>we all silently carried them concealed secure<br>in the several folds of our hearts as we now<br>wake up each morning to a jagged silence<br>ringing loud from our empty hearts...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">where are you dear friend? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">some seventeen years ago she hoisted <br>our spirits when on a fine morning when i was<br>feeding my toddler she hopped into the room<br>and made sure i fed him proper...<br>'tha! ' the little boy would greet her<br>with food filled mouth with the twinkle of <br>a toddler that reflected in my eyes</div><div style="margin:10px 0">what time sense you've, my winged friend! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">pesticides robbed her of her food chain<br>deforestation deprived her of her habitate<br>supermarkets stole away her grain<br>concrete jungles cut her off from everything else</div><div style="margin:10px 0">modern day life, communication networks<br>and the ensuing radiation pronounced<br>a death-sentence...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">whenever brute force is applied<br>on the innocent and the hapless<br>'picika meeda brahmaastram'<br>(a thunder bolt employed on a sparrow) <br>goes the idiom in my mother tongue<br>and that's exactly the injustice<br>meted out to these meek creatures</div><div style="margin:10px 0">my lovely little sparrow<br>hidden secure in our hearts<br>how much i long to see you, hear you...<br>tell me, will you gain your wings back<br>if i offer my heart on your altar <br>to fill the world with <br>your twitter and chirping? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">20mar2010<br>21.55hrs</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Indira+Babbellapati">Indira Babbellapati</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=411416" data-title="Twitter Of Nostalgia de Indira Babbellapati" data-description="today my heart echoes 
the collective chirping of domestic sparrows 
who woke us up each morning and 
brought us homeward in the evenings...

hop and skip like playing hopscotch
she would enter through the door
turn her neck in all dierections
as ..."></div>
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