nature – Wolverine Lily

February Morning

The breeze pushed open the balcony door.
A ribbon of steam above my coffee
spiraled toward the first light,
scenting the room.

Outside, hurried engines growled.
Finches and sparrows clamored in trees,
their small throats threading the air
in twittering chorus.

I wondered—
How could such tiny bodies
outvoice the neighborhood?

A ruby-crowned kinglet
landed on my balcony rail,
skipping from foot to foot,
tiny claws ticking against the metal.

He tilted his head,
round black eyes fixed on mine.
Feathers on his throat trembled,
and his song spilled inside,
warm as coffee against my lips.

I couldn’t understand any of it.
Yet he sang to me.

My book—
a world of silent pages,
slipped into my lap.

And then—
his wings opened,
and he swooped beneath
the balcony’s edge.

I washed my mug,
soap bubbles skimming
over my hands—
and the bird’s song
still warbled in my ears.

October 21st

The sky wasn’t red for love tonight.
Orange blood scraped
across a wound-less blue.

Beneath—
clouds drifted like glaciers,
burning the spine of the horizon.

A crowd caught mid-inhale;
mouths open, arms raised,
trying to hold what was slipping.

I wondered—

How many eyes turned upward,
snagged in the orange web?
How many hearts synchronized,
holding breath—
forgetting where it hurts.

Rusty Adventure

Drudges and thralls
caged in clocks,
welding days into years.
Wages unlock gates
for … a holiday.

They fly across the world
to stand on borrowed ground,
marvel at the same sky,
bronze in the same sun,
convinced it’s better.

Yet back home,
the same Earth is
dimmed, diluted,
dull.

Why?

Is it receipts they admire,
or the story they post?

Conforming to filtered joy,
oblivious to their own.

Why reach for foreign rust,
when gold gleams beneath their feet?

Author’s Note:
A sunset got tangled in street cables above the lamps. Not a postcard-worthy view, but perhaps even more beautiful. What’s the point of faraway wonders before exploring your own backyard?

Resilient Dances of Leaves

Our lives are like the rain falling from the sky,
Sometimes gentle, like a whisper—an unnoticed sigh.
A light rain on a warm day, no big deal,
Just a kiss from the heavens—a bliss to feel.

A single drop on a leaf, a sweet graceful dance,
It slides to the tip, then takes its chance.
As it dives to the ground, the leaf bounces back,
A tranquil scene—a peaceful act.

Yet when the rain pours, in torrents and sheets,
The leaf takes the blows, withstanding the beats.
It’s under attack from raindrop-heavy punches,
Just like we face challenges in unpredictable bunches.

But the rain pounds harder when the storms rage,
Life’s troubles cascade, taking over the whole stage.
People like leaves, caught in the fray,
Fighting like raindrops on a stormy day.

And then comes the hurricane, wild and free,
Ripping apart the tallest tree!
Life’s greatest storms, we cannot predict,
They tear through our lives, leaving us kicked.

We cannot control the weather and the rain,
Just like life’s joys and moments of pain.
But we can stand firm, like the leaf on the tree,
Bouncing back after each drop, strong and free.

Yet, rainbows emerge, vibrant and bright,
Everyone points with pure delight.
A promise of beauty after the rain,
A reminder of joy after moments of pain.

For every storm that shakes the ground,
There’s a magical rainbow waiting to be found.
In the dance of the rain, in the calm and the strife,
We find the essence, the beauty of life.