All my friends are here,
The sparrows
The great tits,
The magpie.
They sing about their day,
They ask for more rice,
They praise their creator
I feel like waving at them,
I feel like hugging them,
I feel like calling them,
But I don’t.
One wrong move,
One wrong stance,
One wrong word,
and they will fly away.
Like you.
But there’s a breeze…
And in a flutter,
They return.
And with a tweet,
They return.
And with a peck,
They return.
Just like you.
The trees are bare.
The walls are silent.
The ground is cold.
When they are gone.
When you are silent
When I am alone.
Alone, so alone.
I don’t miss the crowds.
I don’t miss the roars.
I don’’t miss the chatter.
I miss,
Flesh and bones.
I miss
Warmth and truth.
I miss,
Soul and heart.
You,
and the birds.
You,
but not them.
You.
and not people.
I never tell you,
I never reveal to you,
I never show to you,
How much I miss your presence.
Too afraid of your flight.
Too afraid of your fright.
Too afraid of your fears.
Will they push me away?
Will they send me away?
Will they lock me away?
As you watch silently.
I don’t listen to those fears.
I don’t listen to those lies.
I don’t listen to those ghosts.
I greet my friend with a smile.
They flitter by.
Flickering golden leaves on the ground.
Finishing the last crumbs of my lunch.
Fluttering the thin branches of my cherry tree.
How gentle,
How soft,
How sweet!
I tend my hearth.
I tend my hurts.
I tend my heart.
And sweep the crumbles leaves away.
And dig out the tiny radishes from the earth.
And root in garlic for next summer.
Wrapped in my own melody.
The sun filters through the tattered curtain of foliage-
The sun filters through the tangled curtain of my hair.
The sun filter through the misty curtain in my mind.
That evanescent glow,
That fading glow,
That precious glow,
makes me rise and dance.
makes me glimmer and grow.
makes me dream and hope.
The beauty of a quiet autumn afternoon.
I wish,
I pray,
I hope,
to spend it with you.
Will the chirps make you want to dance?
Will the golden sunset make you want to sing?
Will the shivering trees make you want to hold me?
These are the questions I can never ask.
So I tell my friends,
The red breasted robin,
The woodpecker,
The swallows.
Maybe in a season or two,
A bird will perch on your shoulder.
A bird will peck at your window.
A bird wills settle in your beard
and lull you with a melodious confession.
Layla Ali Sultan 