Hypochondria
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I listen in the quiet of the night to a faraway chirping of a bird.
She too awakes like me and I try to understand her austere song.
'Where's my Sweetheart and he's late tonight?
He promised me to bring sweetcorn,
Something happened to him or he flew in a wrong direction to some other roost?
I believe you and pray that you'll be all right,
And don't fly in the awful night.
I am awake till dawn until your safe return.
I dedicate this poem to the poetess Indira. Babbellapati
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