The Voice Was Actually Of...

The winds blew me in another place,

Where shadow clued me, someone, to chase,

My next step made a thing found,

I wondered when heard a fluent sound.

It was not like as beating ten fingers,

The voice not voiced by excellent singers,

Ignoring the thing, I puzzled everywhere,

It became scaring from coming here.

I ran and ran away from there,

Chasing it where it comes here,

Making myself alive for coming years,

I took another step with a little fear.

Remembering the clue of the shadow,

I saw a bench of wings on the meadow,

What a miracle It was for me!

Bench died in actually or flee.

Another blow came to rise,

While watching a temple nice,

Loud of bells can chirp on ice tops,

Making the mind of intelligence stops.

The temple vanished quietly,

Cutting my another thread haplessly.

The hope of despair rammed in soil,

After a house for a while ,

Living a family of cuckoos happily here,

Leaving the kingdom of fear.

The pool of gladness washes them always,

Their voice sweet to ears of flakes,

Wings of their flies high around,

Singing to impress heaven on grounds.

I found my answer then,

Reaching to the fetching place when

Reminding the song that had heard,

Wasn't it anything, just singing of the family bird.