If You Give Me Back My Wings

I received a comment from a visitor of my photography site. It read:

                         “at the edge, but she looks like she does not want to fly”

Here is the photo:

And that reminded me of a poem by Christopher Logue:

Come to the edge.

We might fall.

Come to the edge.

It’s too high!

COME TO THE EDGE!

And they came,

And he pushed,

And they flew.

… Years ago, a robin made her nest atop our entry door. We watched her patient and maternal behavior till the chicks came out of the eggs. We gave them names, but kept our distance to not interfere with nature.

And one day, each bird took their first fly out of the nest.

And then we were left with an empty nest upon our door.

… Thinking more about Logue’s poem, I believe that most humans do not take their flight voluntarily. They are pushed by joy, pain, love or simple curiosity. And even then, most of us cannot fly well.

But we always leave an empty nest behind, atop someone’s door. Often someone who did not know we built a nest or took our flight.

That nest is built to remain empty.

March 30, 2018

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2017

The Rising of the Moon

Stone upon stone

And the sea is dark

A song from misty nights

Lets a boat pass by

A woman smokes a pipe

By the wall, near the port

While her man drowns in beer

His heart empty but free

Stone upon stone

With moss to hold time in vain

I hear that song again

And I go back , with simple steps

… The woman knocks her pipe

Against the stony wall

Sailors will stay at sea tonight

And the rain will soon wash away

The song from misty nights

And a name, left free at sea

March 17, 2018

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2018

Barefoot Wings

An amphora always has

Two arms

Yet it is the scent

Of drifting times

That one holds on

With two hands

And then lets go

For the old clay

Cannot whisper

Cannot promise

And cannot harbor

What one holds with two hands

Even if the amphora

Has two arms

In unrest

March 2, 2018

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2018