Birds’
Journey
~*~
Every
song has their own birds,
sounds
of forests’ flute,
breeze
of poppy fields,
shouts
and swipers of the ocean.
Every
flight has its own wings
soaring
high, under the sky’s armpit and,
even
higher towards the soul’s home,
or
descending towards the ridge of the sea’s waves,
the
field’s lap or homely bushes.
Every
bird has her own journey
of
faraway travels or sedentary life
of
nests built every year
of
new chicks, new commitments,
perpetual
routines.
Every
cage has its own bird
empty
of joyful songs
full
of useless wings,
empty
of real freedom
full
of sorrow of captivity,
full
of flightless desires.
Who
has designed the first cage?
Does
the first bird trapped in it
still
remember her song?
Meditation
I
close my eyes…
I’m
only dream, energy,
longing
songs, sorrow, joy, hope,
and
poetry.
Particles
of my energy history
remember
my previous names
and
all my previous lives…
l
lived in a cave,
in
an abode dug into rocks,
a
palace, a boat house, a marae…
I
carry within images and scents
of
exotic places unrecorded in novels,
travelogues
and maps.
I
walk on the velvet moss in the forests,
and
kneel in front of a sunset and pray,
I
surf on the mirror of the sea,
taming
my awareness
then
I climb a hill
and
hug an old rimu tree
that
hugs me back.
A
curtain of silence
connects
the vibes.
I
open my eyes
and
I am one with everything.
~*~
Valentina
Teclici
Napier,
New Zealand
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