You cannot cage it. You cannot reason with its beak. You can only sit still and let it peck — until the pecking becomes a rhythm, and the rhythm becomes a name, and the name becomes a door you are finally brave enough to open.
Some call this love. Some call it grief. I call it the kothi paravai — the bird that builds its nest not from twigs or thread, but from the knots of old hopes and the frayed ends of almost . manam kothi paravai
It does not fly. It perches on the pulse and pecks — once for every unspoken word, once for every name the lips have worn thin. You cannot cage it
Manam Kothi Paravai