A Bird Poem by Akhtar Jawad
A Bird
A lovely bird for which I don't have locks,
Who visits my room at zero hours and likes it,
Lays eggs on my writing table and that I like.
Sees something and goes back with shocks,
My pen writes something and she dislikes it,
I am stranded between her like and dislike.
Can see, but can't speak and praise her beauty,
She has blocked my lips but eyes she has left open,
My naughty pen sends a flying kiss to her colors.
As long as I listen to her songs she's sweet and pretty,
Shall remain thankful for the pink print on my pen,
With sweet words it acknowledges her colors her odors.
(A lovely poetess, who sometimes reads me, likes and writes comments on my poems has blocked me to write a comment on hers and has also blocked me to send a thanksgiving message to her. I don't know why?)
Affection, motivation, a pause. But pen knows its purpose, and works in your hands. Very lovely and beautiful poem.
blocked! but none can block the true wings of bird the bard is true in self the flute of the bard can play wherever it goes the true wise pen ink cannot sink into the ocean of oblivion, into the ocean of depression it can write either be the greeted or non-greeted! ! !
As long as I listen to her songs she's sweet and pretty, Shall remain thankful for the pink print on my pen, With sweet words it acknowledges her colors her odors. she must be young you fascinate her with you pen no not the lower one but in your mind which words of sexiness she finds CONGRATS WE both are racing time she enlightens yurs a guy derides mine You are lucky JA JI
A beautiful and honest write. Maybe someday, in God's own time, the lovely bird will visit you again. Your beautiful poems, Sir, will make the birds visit your writing table. A clever and well executed write.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 3:48:15 AM # 1.0.0.1119
May the birds wear white feathers again and fly across your inked paper, wearing olive leave aa crown... Then forgiveness is the agreement between two, and wounded hearts concealed from murmuring wonder and pain.