Mani, the Hoopoe That Flew

Beneath the shapeless sky of blue In the valley lacking a hue Was an isolated thin pond Where birds sang their short song to bond Singing a song hoarse with throats sore In the midst of their pond’s vapour And dunking their bodies with threads Into the pond, scratching their heads In the midst of this quacking though A foreign and sweet song did grow A song soft and low in its pitch With tunes so gloriously rich From the bird of the pond of brown With a towering orange crown From an egg of a pearly hue That flew down from the boundless blue And was reared by the pond’s brown birds Though the pearly egg spoke no words Now that hoopoe bird did well sing When it grew out from the mud spring Taught by the blue scimitarbill His unseen twin that came with skill So Mani, the hoopoe bird, sang Sang without lips or a sharp fang To the simorgh bird that stood tall Strong though unseen and above all The brown birds of the pond quacking At last heard their valley quaking Quaking from the gentle ringing From their adopted bird singing When the hoopoe was at last done The birds in fury beat their son Mani wounded and in much tears Flew away from any harsh ears While flying and singing with skill He saw his loved scimitarbill “Mani, the simorgh has sent you To sing an ancient song anew To sing to every nest and tree So every bird may sing with glee” So the Prophet Mani prepared To sing across the world impaired He crafted seven tunes to sing So all may feel the simorgh’s wing From the valley of detachment To the valley of wonderment Singing his melody up high And flew to the shapeless blue sky