The Promises — Abnish Singh Chauhan

The day was fading,
and the evening
settled on the lake,
as it always does.

The sun hurried,
heading somewhere
far, far away
in the west.

The birds were returning
from the fields
to their resting places.

Flying in a ‘V’ shape,
high in the sky,
the birds seemed to carry
a message of victory
as the day came
to an end.

In another formation,
they shifted to
a ‘W’ shape,
gliding softly,
whispering ‘wait,’
for the coming morning—
as every evening promises
when it arrives.

***