Monday, February 21, 2011

A dying bird defies gravity until the end

My dear friend nooshin shared a lovely and moving poem with me, and I couldn't let the opportunity pass to write a response to it. The top piece is nooshin's, and mine appears below it.


the bird was severely wounded
it needed no food
and no water
no medicine
and no shelter
all those who watched its flights
or listened to its songs
except an artist
who painted it
with its wings wide open
soaring in the blue sky
he knew a dying bird
only wanted to be remembered
in its flight


What makes this bird die
a bird? It wasn't
what they hinted
with their hollow words
about her meekness
of beak, at bone,
or feathers they caught
with owning-eyes,
wishing to keep her,
keep her from flight.
It was deep down,
her why, he observed –
the resilience
of a graceful will
to take wing despite
the weighty wounds
and their whisper,
"Without us, you're not."

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