They kept on telling me that God created time before all things,
yet I preferred to swim against the tide and turn to science,
Years succeeded, seasons changed, and so did attitudes.
Till time and aging didn't mean a thing, nor did the birds I chanced upon—no more.
Suddenly time itself began to speak.
Its whispered call more charming than all birdsongs,
We start to perish the moment we’re born.
Hence—do we live at all?
I finally felt a bird myself, though neither a cuckoo nor a hawk.
Not scared of flying, happy, singing as perfectly aware of time going by,
their unacted desires