In the whispering hours of dawn,
When the world is asleep,
When the heart and the soul and the mind
Is quieter than Silence itself,
When everything is peaceful,
With no indication of Life's storm...
A lone nightingale begins to sing.

The notes echo through the heart-aching silence
High and low, far and wide.
Quiet and loud all at once,
As if Darkness and Light,
As if Good and Evil,
As if Life and Death,
Have become one with the music,
Have become one with the little bird, a tiny drop in the vast ocean,
With a heart bigger than the entire universe.

The song woke me from a distant utopia
To the harsh realities of life.
It woke me from futile dreams,
To the suffering, the strife, the evil, the oppression...
To the darkness of this world.
Why is her song so heart-wrenching?
Why does it pluck the soul
And suck it away
Like a butterfly that sucks the
Nectar from the flowers?

But then it changed.
The notes became shriller, but not with the screams of the oppressed,
But with a cry clearer than a human voice -
"It's not over yet. There is still hope."
And that is when I understood the Song of Hope.
That is when I understood the music of the little bird,
A tiny drop in the vast ocean,
With a heart bigger than the entire universe.





© Moonlight-Whisper