As the Lark swung open its wings amidst the hilly area, a blast of icy air hit its wings. It sensed the silence from the smoky mist, only cold air hissed into the vacuum.It was flying across the breeze of air twisting its wings upward and backward.Frustrated with the silence, it started to whistle and sing,
"I broke the silence-
which has no sense,
Silence makes the hill obsolete-
but my song makes it alive,
Its rhythm conquers over silence-
which has no sense-
as sounds always thrive."
But the voice of wind crackled as it echoed,
"I can see-
Without the pin drop silence-
Sound makes no way of sense,
Silence allows the sound to occupy-
Its volume of free-
And that is why-
Sound makes its way without any try."
Sighing, the lark redirected its way to the bank of a river.
Momentarily impressed by the depth of the river's watery flow, the lark enjoyed long hours beside it. It started to sing with its smooth voice,
"Anybody knows yet?
The river turns the barren land's fate-
Into a field of complete greenery,
without its flow, the land remains dull without any prosperity."
The streams heard the lark's song, they jumped on the bank to bounce
with a rhythm of reply,
"Perhaps, you forget,
Without land's patience and respect,
I can not have a smooth flow,
Cutting its deep edge, I make my glow."
The lark flew downward through a grassy slope where the plain is bordered with some trees.It was carrying some seeds with its beak and wondering with some free fall of seeds upon the branches of a tree, the leaves wavered. Cutting the air, their hollow voice sounded,
"It spoils our grandeur,
Flourishing up above is our nature,
Seed remains within muddy soil,
We are heaven and they are hell."
The lark gasped, looking down at the leaves, it started to think and refused to accept whatever these referred.It whistled which quipped some worthy words,
"Silence paves the way of echo,
Land spaces the river to flow,
Seed is the mother and soil is the womb of tree,
They behold the branches and leaves to let them flourish free."
"I broke the silence-
which has no sense,
Silence makes the hill obsolete-
but my song makes it alive,
Its rhythm conquers over silence-
which has no sense-
as sounds always thrive."
But the voice of wind crackled as it echoed,
"I can see-
Without the pin drop silence-
Sound makes no way of sense,
Silence allows the sound to occupy-
Its volume of free-
And that is why-
Sound makes its way without any try."
Sighing, the lark redirected its way to the bank of a river.
Momentarily impressed by the depth of the river's watery flow, the lark enjoyed long hours beside it. It started to sing with its smooth voice,
"Anybody knows yet?
The river turns the barren land's fate-
Into a field of complete greenery,
without its flow, the land remains dull without any prosperity."
The streams heard the lark's song, they jumped on the bank to bounce
with a rhythm of reply,
"Perhaps, you forget,
Without land's patience and respect,
I can not have a smooth flow,
Cutting its deep edge, I make my glow."
The lark flew downward through a grassy slope where the plain is bordered with some trees.It was carrying some seeds with its beak and wondering with some free fall of seeds upon the branches of a tree, the leaves wavered. Cutting the air, their hollow voice sounded,
"It spoils our grandeur,
Flourishing up above is our nature,
Seed remains within muddy soil,
We are heaven and they are hell."
The lark gasped, looking down at the leaves, it started to think and refused to accept whatever these referred.It whistled which quipped some worthy words,
"Silence paves the way of echo,
Land spaces the river to flow,
Seed is the mother and soil is the womb of tree,
They behold the branches and leaves to let them flourish free."
