Tuesday Tunes – Poetry Through Music, #37, 2016

Image from Pinterest

[Inspired by Blueneck’s “Lilitu”:]

The bird was dead,

she was sure of that,

cocks her head

to the side (unconscious

imitation of the corpse

before her, when alive;

neck now broken and wings askew).


was not an animal sentiment,

she knew, but wonders

what had killed the little crow,

bloodied its beak, its claw;


for taste, for morsel of

black innocence.

With hands trembling from the cold

she places the feathered body

in her palm: ever young,

never old,

would the bird remain,

testament to a mother who

might not know how to grieve.

Tears wet her cheeks; through

her lent sorrow she strokes the wings

which never again would bear aloft

this little bird,

so soft,

so small in her upturned hands

(upturned in supplication

to whichever power these creatures

oversees, protects;

or not).

Her body wracks with sobs

as she realises her own clipped state,

pinions useless now

she has a mate.  This bird

would never have such things,

nor fly above again, buoyed

by freedom’s breeze.

Death then,

death to them both:

quick was her body still, yet host

to a chained soul.

From that at least

this dead little bird

was free.

[Copyright © N R Nolan 2016]