The Bird
Long years passed. Long lived I.
Time’s not loyal. It passes us by.
I remember, the bird’s advice.
Not born human, but very wise.
Through a garden, I was walking.
In this splendor, a bird was talking.
Full of sorrow, song was his.
His voice often, do I miss.
Spellbound by his, flawless singing,
I decided to, seize his freedom.
Capturing him and, enslaving,
I thought I’d listen, to his rhythm.
Despondent and hopeless, was he but.
What I’d do with him, cared he not.
He started to talk and to cry.
How he talked knew not I.
The Bird:
People were born smart and able,
Unlike my folk small and feeble.
But we value what we’re given,
Unlike your folk by Falsehood driven.
To help others and to build the world,
Arms you were given of a perfect mold.
But you fight with it and hurt each other.
Why do you do it? Oh my brother.
To travel the world and to stand,
Feet you were given of a long strand.
But you kick with it and you crush.
You don’t redden, nor you flush.
To guide others and to teach,
Tongues you’re given, red and rich.
You hurt feelings and you tattle.
Life’s a journey, not a field of battle.
To look at nature and to learn,
Eyes you’re given which I yearn.
You see no one, but yourself.
Due to your vile and, evil self.
Unlike others of a different flavor,
Beauty you’re given full of glamor.
You reveal your body and the face,
But your soul, not look, is True grace.
To seek the truth and to advance,
Mind you’re given sharp as a lance.
But you chase each other, and destroy.
It’s your hobby. And it’s your joy.
You want the world to be in peace?
Don’t lie to me! Don’t lie please.
Peace is a mask, for you to kill.
With cries and blood, the world you fill.
You invent rifles, to hunt games?
You invent bombs, to blast frames?
You invent fire, to spark flames?
No, you invent only, to butcher lames.
Power you want in this world.
You want your name to be bold.
This is your notion of thy life,
But it is deluding, although rife.
Life is a ship, heading north,
With people coming, back and forth.
You get on solely, to be off.
You get off surely, dead in a bough.
Life is a book, of pleasure and pain.
The pages are bright, and are vain.
Every page has, its own story.
Ending in failure, or in wondrous glory.
Life is a race, testing us.
Everyone runs, as he likes.
If you can’t persist, and go on,
You are lost and, are forlorn.
Life is a line, of waiting people.
But of your turn, you know little.
Were *Alexander’s hands bare.
Nothing belongs, to you here.
Salahaddin* is gone, and is *Richard,
Not taking from thence, any orchard.
The wars they led, are forgotten,
And their bodies, are long rotten.
Life is a river, flowing fast.
No one escapes, at long last.
The death to come, in the end,
Takes you sibling, to its bed.
Astounded and mesmerized, I was no longer listening to the bird’s melodious chanting, nor was I able to see the bird before me when I gathered myself. He was talking to no one but to me, for I could feel every weakness he listed inside of me. I looked around. Nothing. No bird. No singing. Suddenly, I felt the bird talking inside me. I understood. I understood that the bird was what I lost due to my cruelty, due to my impure desires, and due to my blindness. The bird was my pure self when I was born and when I didn’t know what was evil and what was not. Nevertheless, my inherent self came to me and found me, forever making me happy. Now, long years passed, not erasing the bird’s advice from my heart. Hence, I wanted his words to be heard.
My name is Dilnur. And I am old.
Reflect. The message will unfold.
If you want advice bright as gold,
Keep the bird inside, tightly hold!
This poem was written in 2011. I wanted to see humankind from a different perspective. That’s why, I used the bird as a spectator to mankind’s wrongdoings. When one is a spectator, he can see what is unseen to you. I remember how when we were kids, 11-13 years old, my spectator friends used to give advice on what move to make next in chess games, and what is interesting is that usually they saw what the two players were not seeing. When one is immersed in this world, he forgets about everything else. He has to change his outlook on life by putting himself in others’ shoes: people, animals, nature, and etc. That is when we start understanding how meaningless our angers and impure desires are. The bird, as a consequence, is no different from your inner voice, which has tried to guide you throughout your life. Nonetheless, very few people know how to listen to their inner voices. That was the philosophy behind this poem. When I read it after four years, I can see that this poem has some childish flavor to it. It might be because, throughout the history, people tried to teach children how to become better human beings by telling them fairy tales with animal characters even though adults need that advice more. Krylov’s fables exemplify that type of poetry. When we were children, we listened to animals’ advice very attentively, we, sadly, do not seem to do that anymore.
Dilnur Yuldashev #poetry #poetrycommunity #poetryinstagram #instagrampoetry
