IF I WERE A BIRD...

                - Mummy, how the birds understand each other?

                - They do it with songs, my boy.

                - Then to whom sings our bird?

                - It sings to us, Deny.

                - But we are not birds, mummy!

* * *

                Night above the city. Stars pour their romantic light over the dark streets. People in love walk hugged silently. A naughty ray of a star goes through the branches of a tree covered with flower buds. An open window and darkness behind if. The ray light up two tender eyes. A girl is dreaming.

               If I were a bird maybe up there the night sky I would meet windy happiness. I would twitter it my most beautiful song and it would stay with me forever.

              If I were a bird in the morning I would meet the pink-fingered dawn with songs and I’d be fascinated by the golden sunrise forgetting the sleepless night. All day I would be flying in the deep blue sky and I would be singing in the heavens with my happy twitter, stolen a bit of warmth from the bright sun. A bit of warmth to warm me in the violet evening leaven  of scents and velvet darkness of the night.

              If I were a bird when the violet even fall descend over the poplars I would flutter above the pairs of lovers and I would touch gently their hair. I would go drink by their tender smiles given to the beautiful late bird.

              If I were a bird, then, when the night falls down its ebony curls I would fly straight up to these twinkling and attractive little lights. Up and up! Till my strength is over and I begin to fall down, attracted by the strong gravitation. But it sure that in a silent starry night I would fly to them and I would sink in their hot flame. And, grabbed by their fire breath I would turn into a little star. In the firmament would appear an allure little light.

             If I were a bird in cage I’d die. I would sing for freedom until I fell down in the corner. The colours of rainbow would leak one after another from my feathers - first the violet, then the blue one, green, yellow, red. The mix of seven wonderful colours would form a dirty spot under me. My soul would be free again in its flight to the fading sky and it wouldn’t hold the rainbow on my feathers.

             If I were a bird I would fly bravely to the shoulder of the guy who I love. I’d sing him my most beautiful song - with which I meet the sun. I would give my blue colour to the sky over us, yellow to the sun which lights, green to the grass under our feet, red to the fire seen in his eyes. And, finally without any colours I would be a gray bird trusty sitting in his strong hands.

             If I were a bird…

             I am not bird. But my soul is a bird.