01/05/2025
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πππ£πππππ‘ πΌ: πβπ π΅ππππππππ ππ πΉπππβπ‘
In a house of quiet walls and time's soft embrace,
Two white doves arrived, with wings of grace.
A family, young, with hearts unmarked by age,
Gazed upon them, as if a chapterβs first page.
I, the reluctant one, with no deep desire,
Saw not the wings, but the flame of their fire.
Childrenβs eyes shone with unspoken dreams,
A simple wish, brighter than moonbeams.
I made a homeβa sheltered bloomβ
A room of warmth, a quiet tomb.
Where the cold and heat were kept at bay,
And love grew silently in the sway.
Soon, a nest in the corner took its place,
Where love and hope met in soft embrace.
An egg was laidβnew life to comeβ
A promise of the world, of whatβs to become.
The little one hatched, from silence it spoke,
The air filled with life as a new bird awoke.
Yet, the doves did not seek the heavens above,
Their world was grounded in comfort, not love.
Their flight was bound to rooftops near,
Their wings unfolded without fear.
But the skyβs vast call was never heard,
The world beyond a distant word.
---
πππ£πππππ‘ πΌπΌ: πβπ πΆπππ ππ π‘βπ πππ¦
Seasons changed, the child grew strong,
But something shifted, quiet yet long.
The male dove, once content in still,
Now paced the edges, restless, ill.
He came to the door, as if to say,
βFarewell,β and then he flew away.
An exit unmarked, a silent parting,
Leaving behind an ache, a heart-starting.
The mother dove, now left alone,
Tended her nest, with quiet tone.
Yet, the nest stayed empty, not a new egg to find,
Fateβs hands were gentle, yet cruelly unkind.
The young male dove, grown and true,
Took flight one day, as all things do.
And silence fell, as winterβs breeze,
Leaving behind only memories.
---
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I bought a dove of blackened hue,
To fill the space, and bring life through.
But fate, it seems, had other plans,
For the black dove met deathβs cruel hands.
The new male dove, with wings so bright,
And the mother dove, kept to their flight.
But in the heart of darkness, no new wings took form,
No new life, just the storm.
Days grew longer, hearts grew cold,
The childrenβs smiles, no longer bold.
New interests came, as all things do,
Turtles, rabbitsβyet the doves withdrew.
And then, one day, the white dove returned,
Her wings tired, her feathers burned.
She sat at the door, with a silent cry,
And then she flew again, up to the sky.
Left behind was the black doveβs sorrow,
A soul alone, with no promise of tomorrow.
Yet time did not pause, nor did fate relent,
Life marched on, and we moved to the present.
---
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In a new place, far from the past,
The black dove waited, alone at last.
Two new white doves arrived with grace,
But he, in his solitude, did not embrace.
They fought him off, rejected his soul,
He was nothing but a shadow, a darkened goal.
And so he remained, on the edge of night,
Until the hand of fate took its flight.
The male dove of white grew ill,
And death came quickly, with cold, cruel will.
The black dove, once cast away,
Came to the cage, to end the fray.
And there, amidst the quiet night,
The doves united in their flight.
No longer bound by sorrowβs tear,
Together, they rose, beyond all fear.
And soon, beneath the skies so wide,
Two new chicks grew with hearts open wide.
A white and black, a blending pure,
A union of love, a future sure.
---
πππ£πππππ‘ π: πβπ πΆπππππ ππ ππππ
The black dove, once the outcast, now free,
Fed the little ones with loveβs decree.
No thought for self, only for the weak,
A guardian of what others seek.
The white dove, proud, stood by his side,
Yet, still, her heart would not collide.
Her wings stretched wide, but she did not fly,
Her gaze cast downward, as he reached the sky.
The winds of life blew with harsh embrace,
But the black dove knew his place.
In silence, he gave, without regret,
For love, true love, leaves no debt.
And when the storm, with fury bright,
Struck them down in its darkest night,
The black dove stayed, through wind and rain,
A symbol of love, of joy, of pain.
---
πππ£πππππ‘ ππΌ: πβπ πππ’π‘β ππ π‘βπ πππππ
Now, the little ones have grown,
They live with wings of their own.
And yet, the story, deep and wise,
Lies in the eyes of the black doveβs skies.
For every soul, every heart,
Plays a role, does its part.
No life is lost, no moment vain,
Each one is shaped by love and pain.
The black dove knew, what none could see,
That each soul must find its key.
In the silence, in the dark,
There lies the spark.
We are all, in truth, like himβ
Wings torn, hearts dim.
Yet, in the darkness, we rise,
And find the light, beyond the skies.
And so, the lesson, deep and clear,
Echoes still in hearts sincere.
For no one is wasted, no soul is lost,
Every life has its cost.
We are all like the black doveβ
Silent, strong, with wings of love.
In giving, in suffering, in quiet trust,
We find our place, and in it, we must.
Each soul is woven with the fabric of time,
No one is a prisoner, no one is blind.
The universe spins with eternal grace,
And in each of us, finds its place.
So let us fly, with wings unbroken,
Let every gesture be a tokenβ
Of love, of loss, of faithβs embrace,
For in each of us, we find our place.
In the flight of the dove, in the fall of the night,
We are all bound by love's sacred light.
And when we know this, deep and true,
We riseβour wings, forever new.
--- ( Λ Β³Λ)β€
ππ‘π ππ§π
