A Weaver Bird

In a wintry day when I sit on a hillock

My sullen soul reminds about the past

When my heart is incarnated by a pity

I hear from the palm tree a bird croons.

Its nest as coil many coir and threads,

Lower the palm leaf it hangs in the sky

Tribal lands resound when it creaks,

The peasants are imbued by its amours.

A weaver bird without dreary and dismay,

When black clouds cover with thunder

Life’s heaven and hell the bird sees its nest,

Alone he does its duty with its war- beak.

Their lives are a fickleness journey or not

How they feel both blithe and glum I think,

But I keep my memories that have gone…

And there are no signs to bring more cheer.