The Heart Shaped Nest - Poem by Akhtar Jawad
Fell down several times,
but leaned at last,
how to fly.
The joy of learning flying
hasn't reached at its climax,
meanwhile the same loving and helpful nibs,
that provided every thing they needed,
started hitting them with nibs and forced them to leave the nest,
the joy of learning was then blended with tears.
What a garden is this!
What a life we got!
We shall not live in this beautiful garden,
though it has so many green trees
with colorful scented flowers and tasty delicious fruits,
though its situated on the bank of a river,
and its name is Mountains View,
though the river may lead us to the sea,
where we can see adventures of the diving and hunting birds,
though it has many other colorful singing birds,
and their love songs are sweeter than the sweetest,
but we hate this garden,
as here we lost our first love,
and we are afraid we may loose our new love.
The couple started flying
to the high skies,
with an ambition to go to a new garden,
where in place of flowers there are moons,
where in place of mountains there are suns,
where in place of oceans there is endless apace,
the highway of the milky ways looked so close to them,
they thought they will arrive at it in a single flight.
Soon they realized Milky Way is a mirage.
They started falling and fell down on a new green branch
of the same old tree.
The old and kind couple asked them,
may we teach you how to make a heart shaped nest,
we think she is carrying now your eggs,
and you are in dire need of a nest.
Forget adventures of suns, moons and the stars
forget the diving and hunting birds,
this tree is a gift of mother earth,
it has all that you need.
When you'll turn out your young ones from this nest,
you will realize why we turned you out.
Comments about The Heart Shaped Nest by Akhtar Jawad
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe