The Cries Of A Wounded Black Bird Poem by Mohabeer Beeharry

There was a rustle in the leaves in the back garden
As a black bird slid out in sight, dragging a broken wing,
In pain, helpless and panting.

For a moment, he was quiet.
In my heart I could almost hear his groans and prayers,
As tears gathered into my own eyes.

Oh God, be kind to me!
Listen to the prayer of this helpless child.
The babies are waiting.
This earth is not my home.

I live higher up.
Now in the hills aglow with blooms
Then where beautiful cascades fall
And sing your love.

My home is in the air
Where the clouds are light and playfull
And the sky is blue.

At night
I watch the stars decked with tinsels of gold,
And the moon light my home and lulls me to sleep.

Oh God the bird in me yearns to fly
And vie with the fleeting exuberance of the morning sunshine
And drink deep from the azure sky

The bird in me wants to sing,
For my heart bubbles with songs of the air and the breeze
How shall I tell it to remain quiet?

For me time is standing still now.
My songs cry in my heart
And my freedom curtailed.

In the morning the temple bells call.
I shed tears.
My heart breaks
As the stray arrows of sunshine tickle me
And I die to rear up.

Oh God have mercy!
Let me pour my love for you in my songs,
Let my freedom be the garland
That every morning I bring to you,
Or let me die heart broken, for ever grounded.