The Songbirds Babbling

"In a Birding Competition, I was attracted to a Songbird, whose species, I don't know,' The Moon informed, after saying Basmalah and Salaam. "When appeared on stage, she began by singing,

I was five and he was six

We rode on horses made of sticks

He wore black and I wore white

He would always win the fight

Bang bang

He shot me down, bang bang

I hit the ground, bang bang

That awful sound, bang bang

My baby shot me down

'What happened a few days ago,' she says, 'Because Justicia is led that way, and neglecting this way, or rather siding there, and disparaging here. You know ... that those over there cannot be blamed, because, if they have mistakes, no one are willing to join in, when they are inviting. And this is equivalent to what they call 'Fat Data,' which turns out to be only the minority talk, not the majority oration.

One would believe, Humans are People of Reflection, but they say a great deal and do not think at all. They very rarely are matters of their own decisions. They repeat by Word of Mouth, or by Writing, what others have said, and very often, after others.

Pure Memory erected into Wit: Other Peoples Judgments which we give for our own. One Man judges of a Thing, and a thousand Tatlers adopt this Opinion into a sovereign Law, and this torrent of Repeaters has swelled so high as to carry all before it. This, however, is to abandon men himselves, weak Race, as they are, to the Majority. But herein true Authority does by no means consist. To warrant Truth let us count Reasons and not Noses. Why?

Somehow, with just a 'screenshoot,' Raven and those who are willing to support him—I'm not saying supporters, because I know, he never mobilized the masses—framed as the Culprits. However, I will not pay attention to what the Crow said, because it was proven to be false.

But this kind of framing, to Raven, I think, is only a trial, as he had so far. Listen to the following dialog,

It once happened that an Ear of Corn, which lay under the heavy blows of a Thresher’s flail, thus expressed its sense of the unaccountable hard treatment, 'How have I deserved this severe persecution? Do I not appear before you in the simple covering with which Nature has endowed me; and although mankind freely acknowledge me as their greatest blessing, you treat me as if I had been their curse.'

'Fool that thou art!' replied the Thresher, when he heard the complaint; 'know that by this very treatment, your value and your power of blessing is infinitely increased, and that by it, you are divested and freed from a worthless excrescence, and are made more pure.'

So, when Raven has gone through it, he will be a proven Leader, and he deserves to say, to quote Sia Furler, 'I'm so powerful, I don't need batteries to play!''

Paused for a moment, then the Songbird sang,

Seasons came and changed the time

When I grew up, I called him mine

He would always laugh and say

'Remember when we used to play?'

Bang bang

He shot me down, bang bang

I hit the ground, bang bang

That awful sound, bang bang

I used to shot you down

What I'm trying to say, that in Life, as you all know, we need to realize, what is important and what is not. I'd prefer to illustrate it, like the following poem,

A Primrose ever sweet to view, beside a lovely Snow-drop grew;

They were the boasted pride of spring, fann’d by the Zephy’rs balmy wing;

Each thought itself the choicest flow’r, that ever drank the spangled show’r;

And vied for beauty, sought for praise, beneath the sun’s resplendent rays.

At length the Snow-drop, fraught with ire, began to vent its jealous fire.

‘You, Primrose! are not blest as I, who can delight each gazing eye;

‘Superior beauties I may claim, but you were born to meet disdain;

‘That yellow tinge which courts the air, is nothing but the type of care!

‘Review my innocence and worth, know that I sprung from purer earth;

‘While you from coarser mould arose—the truth your sallow visage shows;

‘A grov’ling paltry flow’r, and pale, the jest of ev’ry nipping gale,

‘I am the youthful poet’s theme, of me the bard delights to dream;

‘In lofty verse he sings my praise, snd paints me in his choicest lays;

‘But you the early bud of care, are never seen to flourish there!’

The Primrose heard with modest ear, and ‘Flow’r,’ it said, ‘tho’ sprung so near,

‘I still co-eval praise may claim, nor was I born to meet disdain?

‘Know that we both, tho’ now so gay, shall soon be lost and fade away;

‘And if for beauty’s meed you vie, what boots it? since next eve you die.

‘The Rose is lovely to behold, the Cowslip, too, which boasts of gold, the Tulip and the Lily fair,

‘All yield their fragrance to the air, but soon their beauty fades away,

‘And then proud Snow-drop, what are they?’

Celia, be wise, from pride refrain, nor of your matchless face be vain!

Beauty is short, and soon you’ll find, the greatest centers in the mind.

Let virtue be your sov’reign guide, make her your friend, your boast, and pride,

Then will the brightest deed be done, and all the beauties shine in one.

Silence for a moment, afterwards the Songbird sang,

Music played and people sang

Just for me the church bells rang

Now he's gone, I don't know why

And 'til this day, sometimes I cry

He didn't even say goodbye

He didn't take the time to lie

Bang bang

He shot me down, bang bang

I hit the ground, bang bang

That awful sound, bang bang

My baby shot me down *)

And finally, listen to this,

Tityrus—the name of a shepherd in Virgil's first Eclogue. The word (said to represent ‘satyr’ in Doric) is also used for a fictitious monster supposed to be bred between a sheep and a goat—was musing alone in a Valley bordered with many a Rock. He was to decide an important Question, which to do without Reproach, was his present Oare. 'Good Heaven,' said he aloud, 'instruct and tell me, which sings best, Silvander—a wine made from such grapes—or Atys—a very small to medium-sized sea snails, genus of gastropods in the family Haminoeidae. Also acronim of 'AnyThing You Say.

The Eccho coming nearer and nearer, repeated a hundred Times, 'Atys.'

'Does Atys sing the best?' says the surprized Shepherd.

'The best, the best, the best,' says the Eccho. 'It is enough,' says Tityrus, 'this decides the Controversy.'

He returned then to his Cottage. 'Now,' says he, 'can I give a certain Judgment between our two Rivals ... hmmm ... Atys sings better than Silvander,' and this was unanimously agreed upon by all the neighbouring Valley.'"

The Moon took her leave as saying, "If Justicia refused, then Fate would be the Judge. And Allah knows best."

Citations & References:
- J.B. Rundell, Aesop's Fables, Cassell, Petter and Galpin
- Sieur De La Motte, One Hundred New Court Fables, Peter-Nofter-Row
*) "Bang Bang (My Beby Shot Me Down)" written by Sonny Bono

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