Saturday, 16 April 2016

The Queen of Birds

Woken up by a blue bright fate

Suspended by feathers cuddling the air.

There she flies, there she flies

Dropped from heaven, mademoiselle debonair

Your wild swinging wings, dance upon us in vibrant waves

Riding the far blowing winds, sails your soul  

What would I say, if the blind would ask,

How to tell once again, if I was to describe

“Tipsy words, spoken by an ancient poet…

confused lines, drawn by a genuine child in a playful colour...

The light mirroring itself in a relucent shapeless trace.

I have seen the white doves blessing,

The beauty of swans resting in her arms,

Flock of seabirds doomed, once in a blue moon

Old fishermen embarking again in a last fairy tail

Rythms of the sea, echoing pure melodic sounds.

What shall you do, when the loosely time is yours?

Just look up, even if you blind.

There she flies, there she flies

Dropped from heaven, mademoiselle debonair,

She, the queen of the birds.

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