My birds wake at dawn
My birds vanish at sunset
My birds flit by all day.
Their each have their voice
They each have their song
They each have their dreams
Have you heard them?
Have you seen them?
Have you followed them?
By those lonely city trees
Through those sleepy bushes
In those wavering woods.
Follow them
Follow them we must.
Follow them
Follow them you must
Follow them
Follow them till the end
Of this winding way
Of this spiralling way
Of this rising way.
Through the ages
Through the vales
Through the day.
My birds are calling me
My birds are delighting me
My birds are beckoning me
For another dance
For another song
For another adventure.
Come, come, they say.
Fly, fly, they say.
Sing, sing, they say.
You won’t lose your way
this time.
You won’t fall
this time.
You won’t lose your voice
This time.
How they brave the wild winds
How they endure this strange weather.
How they flourish in the city wilderness.
Indomptable
Unstoppable
Unforgettable.
Delicate wings
Sweet voices
Light gait
But how far they fly!
But how long they strive!
But how long they sing!
Dear winged drops of hope
Dear feathered dew of dreams
Dear tinkling chords of prayers
I am grateful that you exist
Yet,
These birds do not belong to me.
They belong to the trees
They belong to themselves
They belong to Our Creator.
Utter freedom.
Utter beauty.
Utter peace.
There’s a world beyond carefully crafted words
There’s life beyond polished pretty pictures
There’s truth beyond hollow soft quotes
Wild woods teeming with life,
Lively gardens exhaling perfume.
Colorful boughs shivering with songs.
My garden has many
Seasons
Sounds
Moods.
Flowers come and go
Leaves grow and whither
Birds flit and fly.
Some leave
Some return
Some stay.
And there’s my friend…
With a bleeding heart
With a glowing heart
With a blushing heart.
He whispers
He sings
He tweets
According to the time of the day.
Perhaps he was born in that hedge.
Perhaps he was born in those woods.
Perhaps he was born in that horizon.
But he always returns.
Waxes and wanes.
according to the weather.
Sings and hums,
according to the time.
Lingers and hides,
according to his secret.
In the winter, he brings a colorful banner to the soft white snow.
In autumn he melts with the amber sunsets and golden leaves.
In spring he digs the rich fragrant soil and sings for all to hear.
He comes and go as he please.
For the lady of the woods,
He has a name
He has a language
He has a message.
Who can see?
Who can understand?
Who can decipher?
Ah! To understand the language of birds…
Like Saint Francis
Like Prophet David,
Like Prophet Solomon.
But my friend is not a
Flamboyant tardy hoopoe
Mythical hidden bird
Meek needy sparrow,
For, the hoopoe has many duties.
For, the simurgh has many legends,
For, the sparrow has many companions…
My robin has one flightpath
My robin has one song,
My robin has one lover…
And for many months,
And for many days,
And for many seasons,
He must wait.
He must sing.
He must retreat.
A bird to many,
He is my friend,
He is my charge,
He is my teacher.
He flew in my house,
And taught me letting go.
He disappears from my garden
And teaches me patience.
He will sing cheerful from my tree
And teach me joy.
As I dig and sow,
He whispers to me.
Like a child,
Like a distant poet,
Like a forgotten dream.
As I uproot and cut,
He beckons me,
Like a loyal friend,
Like a far off seer,
Like a passing thought.
As I gather and disseminate,
He cantillates at me,
Like a patient teacher
Like a wander hermit,
Like an evergreen hope.
Will he return?
God’s will.
Will he explain?
God’s will.
Will he stay?
God’s will.
What must be uprooted?
What must be planted?
What must be protected?
Who will tell me…
As I do not understand,
The language of birds.
The turn of the tide,
The pattern of the future.
All I know is what I am taught,
Gentle patience,
Soft resilience,
Joyful contentment.
Dear robin,
Let us sing together.
Let us wait together.
Let us hope together.
And pray.
Layla Ali Sultan 