voice

The chirping of the birds woke me up. The sun was still behind the mountains but the sky had the reddish flavour towards the east. With everyone still in the beds and hardly any vehicle plying, I could hear the birds very clearly. Even my wife could here the chatter miles away from me on the phone. It has its own melody. I could decipher about eight to ten different types of the voices. Each one had its sweetness, some were continuous like the chatterbox schoolgirls, some followed a sequence like a drummer who would bang it hard at the end of the stanzas. They spoke in a mystic language, beautifully modulated voices and in the perfect volume which carried their messages without straining their vocal cords. I tried to spot them. I could manage to spot a few of them, amongst so many of them from the mini jungle at my backyard. A thought came to my mind isn't it unsafe for them to announce their locations as there may be some predator lurking near by. Or have they understood the basic truth of life, that each one of us has to perish and whatever small life we have, one should enjoy it to the full, speak your language and be melodious . Be it a small or a big bird, white or dark, fast or slow each one of them had a voice, each one of them aired the voice with freedom. wish I could understand their messages. I find it not that easy to understand our literature, and even if I understand not so easy to follow, then to understand the message in the voice is undoubtedly beyond Me.