Doomed Songbird

And another poem for you... this one on a topic that I fear will form themes in my work for a long time to come.

Doomed Songbird

Doomed songbird who left

an empty bottle of cheap red wine,

a chair by the railing,

a violin in its velvet coffin.

Black Bulbul, your plaintive cry

is etched in my skull

and I hear it played back through my bones

like a record, whenever reverberations play.

Flightless bird you fell,

shattered the glass before you.

Fear - not your wings, your feathers

will remain behind my eyelids

as long as I can see the sky, or broken things.

Written by me, tonight, about events of 2 years ago... has it been that long already?