THE CHIRPY TWINS

Jacinda and Lucinda di Lucalomalinda

Travellers, Observers, Rhyme-weaving chroniclers of the skies

::=::

Few know where they came from, or why they speak in verse.

Wherever rare birds flicker and vanish, Lucinda and Jacinda are never far behind, notebooks in hand.

Known collectively as the Chirpy Twins, they move through the world with curiosity and composure, dressed in silk, hair impeccably coiffed.

They do not travel to explain the world. They travel to notice it - to trace what is disappearing and commit it to paper before it is lost.

They follow birds not only for elegance or rarity, but because something in flight mirrors the mystery they pursue.

::=::

“Be nothing,” a whisper once told them,

“And you just might find everything.”

A lyrical interlude

They packed up their satchels with nonsense and thread,
With poems half-written and books never read,
They followed the call of the invisible bird—
(Or was it a whisper? A thought? Or a word?)
“Be nothing,” it said, “and you’ll glimpse the divine.”
So off they both flew without drawing a line.
Not seeking to lead, nor longing to shine—
Just dancing through dust like a mystical sign.

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They came to a desert where logic had drowned,
Where peacocks wore riddles and owls made the sound
Of clocks running backwards, of hearts turned to clay—
Yet still, through the chaos, they learned how to stay.
They scribbled down dreams in a nine-scripted tongue,
Spoke verses to beetles, and danced with the young.
“The world is a mirror,” said Jacinda with grace—
“And ours is the nose pressed up close to its face.”

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They reached a green silence where nothing was named,
Where birds bore no titles, and no one was blamed.
The wind turned their notes into spirals of light—
They read what was written, but not what they’d write.
For wisdom, they learned, is a feather too wide:
It brushes you once, then it floats off to hide.
“We’ll never know all,” whispered Lucinda, bemused,
“But we’ll follow the questions, sincerely confused.”

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