Sober, speckled, almost smiling

The Blue Tiger arrived without celebration,

 No riot of colour, no carnival song, 

Carrying blues diluted by dusk,

and an unmistaken silence along. 

Neatly folded around restraint,

Wearing spots like unfinished thoughts

on wings that had learned to whisper

stories of fates they fought.

It did not dance nor weep or cry..

but if sadness had manners,

this is how it would sit:

balanced on a leaf,

pretending not to stay long.

The playful sunshine called it to be brighter..

promising joy on a fair sky  

But it declined politely and stayed grounded 

"Some hearts, are meant not to dazzle or lure,

but only to endure."