The night bird singing her heart out, right before the dawn;
who can hear you now?
Someone bowing to say their prayers, or an owl on the prowl?
Yet, you choose to serenade the world while it sleeps.
Are you the lullaby of sapphire skies,
when the capricious moon peeks and hides?
Are you the voice of our collective dreams,
the town crier’s rhythmic sighs, as he lumbers through the streets?
Those trilling tones, the ups and downs,
while we are tucked in beds, so sound asleep.
Do you rock us in your cradle song,
swinging us safely in the highest boughs?
Dull brown bird like wet clay, you sing in vibrant color,
If it begins to rain, the soft drops peppering the leaves;
your notes, change each, into small crystal tears,
that reflect the street lights as they patter my pane.
Glorious bird, you are the Diva of my neighborhood.
You grace the mango tree and sing like a soprano
who plays the poor orphan, dressed in rags of dreary feathers,
whose form, disappears against the trunk, as boring as the bark,
but whose song, even heard in unconsciousness, is never forgotten.
May 3, 2021
*Footnote: The Yiguirro, our National Bird, is the Diva of our neighborhood:)