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.