I am singing outside your window
Singing songs of sorrow
Loitering uneasy, dejected
Dimly hearing your poems selected
What if an apocalypse comes tomorrow?
Will you look back
Part the sashes
And take me in your arms?
I have no petal, no leaf, but wings
That once plucked, throbs my skin
Often bleeds, but you, O master!
You write with my whites, your chapters
What if nature collapses minutes within?
Will you think of a tiny,
A poor being like me
And hold me near your chest?
The fragrance on the envelopes
Tied around my legs, reach my lungs
When I fly to your distant-demure
Ah, lady of the moon and that of yours!
What if sky churns into chunks and lobes
Will you lament over the letters
And not over my feathers?
Will you not mourn over my death?
Papers on your desk, fairer
Fairer than my mud-stained figure
Yet if any hour, you are homeless
Write on me your poems and progress
But if a tempest or a tornado smaller
Devours the city? Will you
Run to the backyard, will thou
Preserve my last breath with love?