Looking cozily from the bird's nest,
The world is either appetising,or alarming.
Fledglings spreading their wings wide,
Have their field days flying all the while,
Slighting their nests,to pride over their wings.
But nestlings navigate their native dreams,
Without running helter-skelter,in their shelter.
The joys of a home are the most genuine stuff,
Made by and known to,only the makers of homes
And cheered by the visiting folks' uproar.
The bounties and banes are nevertheless,
Beyond one's nest,blooming or breaking
The chances of gaining,what is being sought after.
Pain is gain or gain is pain,goes the thumb rule.
To stay safe and rest protected,the nest assures the best.
What if, when trust is lost and the home becomes a tomb?.
From within one's nest,or out of it with the mercy of a GPS,
Reality and illusion are always a fifty fifty Freeway,
Or a Crooked Street,creating hurdles at the cross roads.
Truth is quite often a teaser of the myth,called SAFETY,
Carrying dangling mysteries of' the home and the world'.
P. Chandrasekaran.
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