A bird sat on my shoulder that day.

No, really!

It had pristine blue feathers,

A long mundane beak,

And a crown on its head.

It sang a song I hadn’t ever heard before,

A song so beautiful, so melodious

That it made me forget

The world I lived in.

The pace, the sorrow, the fears,

It all flew away that day,

The bird thankfully never did!

 

I could almost swear that

It would smile whenever

I looked away. Smile. Really.

I did not have a hard time imagining it.

For I could, and can imagine stuff

With so much vividness that

it becomes too hard to differentiate.

 

But I never actually saw it smiling.

It would almost always be there,

at the periphery,

But I’d never be able, or quick enough.

 

Here’s a funny thing though.

I never asked the bird what it wanted.

Why me? Why it?

Never. Not once.

It was out of character,

Certainly for me.

I never asked it, what would it want eventually,

In exchange for the songs?

What was the motto, the aim?

 

The bird could hear my thoughts,

It sang accordingly.

But it never answered any of my questions.

It just sat there,

On my shoulder, singing.

 

I heard it once, or thought I did.

It was singing a song

Which said something about

Mistakes and people.

Sorrow and happiness.

 

I never asked it why it sat there,

Why it sang the songs it sang.

Why? What? Who? For whom?

And it never responded.

Ever.

It just sat there,

On my shoulder,

Singing.