Alone bird on the top of a branch
A bird sits alone on the top of a branch, Maybe it calls, but no one hears The wind only touches its cheek, The sky remains silent, blue and white.
It hides a touch of gold in its black wings, As if it keeps the secret prayer of love.
A silent song is written on the distant clouds, The heart says you are alone, yet great.
Who knows in which forest it was born, Yet the distant light floats in its eyes.
As if time has stopped waiting for someone, It wants to call, but is afraid, afraid, afraid.
The silent wind touches its lips, It clings to the desire of no one to say anything.
Maybe it loved a bird, That flew away towards an unknown sky.
Today it just sits on the branch, lost in thought, The sun will set, but its eyes will still be blue.
Love does not always mean fair, Sometimes it is a silent game.
A thousand memories hang on those wings, As if every feather is written with the love of sorrow.
Yet it does not lose, it wants to fly away, Love means that even if lost, it can be found.
Its body sways in the wind, in a gentle rhythm, No one knows, it cries for what reason.
Sometimes it looks at the sky with a silent gaze, As if someone is calling it from the distant horizon.
Its colors are mixed with love and pain, As if life itself is a gentle mercy.
Yet it does not sing a song of tears, Rather, it whispers that love means life.
A lonely bird on the branch, yet not motionless, A storm in its heart, yet calm.
Love means never returning, Yet a soft hope remains in the mind.
Maybe one day he will fly again, He will find his beloved's door in the unknown sky.
Yet today he remains, alone and silent, The bird of love is still, yet in an endless bond.