Tuesday, June 8, 2010

The Black Bird

Life unrolls into a paper sheet
 when I read poetry  
as mere combination of words. 
I can't see the  turns and twists hidden in life. 
I am  poet, yearning for understanding.
 And I hope
 when I tumbled into an abyss
 with my blacks and whites, 
with my blues and greens, 
and with my yellow sparrows 
and red, crimson twilights, 
I was understood by a soul very near
A blackie  from the conference of birds 
That sang songs celestial 
She is dead and gone, 
and now reborn into the planet 
with a luster of unknown stars 
and cool of unknown streams. 
Forests have a sigh of the bygone bliss 
and skies roam in winds 
with the messages for the coming days. 

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