its chirping songs fill this night, devoid of any other event worth mentioning,
its staccato clicks drowning out every other sound, save for the dogs in the neighborhood.
but they can't out-sing the cricket, no matter how hard they try. for their cries and howls, as romantic as they sound, lack the rhythm of these little beings,
i imagine the sound waves, high and low,
slowing down, then gaining speed once more
but never stopping.
never missing a beat.
how i wish there were more of them,
though i imagine after a while
they would drive me mad.
because, they sing songs that only they
it is not meant for my ears,
as many things, by
nature of fate or God,
are not meant for me.
so in a sense they tease me,
they sing for me, but i know not
what they sing about
little cricket love,
little cricket heartbreaks
life, loss, pain, glory, joy
it is not for me to say.
they could be speaking of my future for all i care,
life will not unfold her secrets until the time is right
and your heart can take it.
maybe one day i will listen to the crickets,
and at last they might hear my reply.