The forgotten bird by Ashutosh Kumar Jha
Eyes black, deadly ashen face with the pearl’s tears
creating the new path to the sky.
So it soars up, gyrating land and sea
And the seldom cry of woebegone joy rings out,
as a bird finds its love’s goal,
knowing that the love lies buried where the blood flows.
Swept lightly by the southerly,
the elm-leaves softly stirred
and in their ashen green clusters,
there straightway bloomed a bird.
yet again it sings to an end the lay of unknown men,
and ever more crimson runs the heart’s wash into dry cracked and parched earth.
The dying bird lies on the black yard,
a black cross of raised head and spread wings.
The sparrow hawk calls and the nightingale sings.
The song becomes brittle now – a psalm of return,
Wounds and resuscitation until it dies away and, at home,
a long-lost mother dries her tears.
But ah, unlike the tulips, in joyous strain, are long.
This red bird flower unfolded a soul of silver song.
Ashutosh Kumar Jha is a business graduate and writer based in New Delhi, India. His hobbies include reading, writing, traveling, watching films and listening to music. His imagination is beyond the clouds and waiting for someone's touch.