Listen closely. The ballad is already playing inside you.
There is a song older than words. It lives in the low grass where the serpent listens and in the highest branch where the bird refuses to be silent.
The snake dreams of a lullaby without wings. The bird sings of a sky without fangs.
This is their ballad. Neither wins. Neither loses. They just keep singing and sliding through the long afternoon.
"Balada de serpientes y pájaros cantores" — a whisper and a trill in the same breath. 🐍🐦
Some come to constrict. Others come to free themselves through song.
One coils around fear. The other escapes on a melody.
🎵 Let them hiss. Let them sing.
