Your twisted tiny body and big black eyes caught my attention and I had to stop. Your rubbery little yellow beek opened and closed, but without the happy twitter of your siblings in the nest above - because you were on the asfalt below.
How many hours you had been lying in the sun unable to move from the fractures you got when your delicate, only slightly feathered body hit the ground, I don't know.
But at this very moment your dilated eyes were looking right into mine and your lungs were screaming without making any sound.
Did your mother push you out, thinking that you weren't strong enough to survive life in the wild?
Or did your brother, wanting more food for himself?
Or were you so curious about the new world that you took off, trusting that your tiny wings would carry you to the sky?
We both know it, your body is moments from giving up. Still, I move you away from the burning sun beams and try to give you some drops of water.
And in that moment you close your eyes, open your beek and exhale your tiny lungs.
How long had you been tweeting for your life without anyone hearing you?
Your silent tweets echo in my ears.
I wonder, would it have been any different had you been a homeless man?