without you, without love my heart is bruised
I Wonder
I wonder,
not because life is unfair or harsh,
but perhaps it was never about
being a good soul.
I wonder
why I loved life
even when it greeted me with bruises.
Perhaps I am simply destined
to suffer.
I wonder.
And I wonder again,
because I feel like my heart
has been taken away.
I know
you also wonder
I am not in love
perhaps my heart is just empty.
I wonder
At times what makes me feel alive,
And where the spark to keep on searching
wandered into my mind.
Perhaps I am just someone
curious enough
to keep wondering.
Perhaps one thing is for sure
we all wonder.
A nightshift a long time ago
I worked with a girl
Her boyfriend didn’t approve
Approve of her working with men
She asked me not to answer the phone
So her boyfriend whouldn’t know
Know of her working together with men
A pasient died during the night
Procedures and protocols to perform
To perform with compassion
So when the phone rang, I answered it
There where no reply, from the other end
And others to call, so I hung up the phone
Two days later, looking out of the tram window
I saw her face, battered and bruised
And knew, her boyfriend really didn’t approve
Approve of her working together with men
A problem I had no solution for
A spring day 25 years later I sat on a train to Oslo
At the Oslo S I saw a couple, recognised the girl
Couples usually goes hand in hand, arm in arm
Or arm around body, arm around shoulder
He was holding her arm!
A problem I still have no solution for
And then comes the poem:
Her facial expression
Battered and bruised
It still bothers me
Her facial expression
A sunny spring day at Oslo S
It still bothers me
It still bothers me
When you left, dreams tripped my hopes forming
bruised knots tightly cinched on my heart.
built a nest out of twin twigs
instead of a camp fire fire starter
laid eggs away from threats
instead of posing for bird watcher enthusiasts
brought home worms for babies' consumption
instead of baiting them for fished
flying against rural strong wind
instead of the resistance from urban polluted air
got printed on educational books
instead of having place in the world.
Narrow winding road passing through the stretched fields
A flock of white storks strutting on the ridges
As if they were the landlords
Slight warbles and trills of birds
I went on enjoying the symphony during my morning walk
A chaos...
The purring of a gasoline car
All the birds soared upwards with a flapping
One confused stork flew in the reverse course
And hit the hood of the car
A thudding sound followed by a weak wailing
I sensed what had happened
Saddened at the sight of the discoloured bird
The static stork plucked my heart strings
An unknown bird...
Still, turbulence in my heart
The hard lucked bird has become my storyline
My tranquil RIP to the hapless soul!
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The radiance of sunlight glistens upon a trickling stream,
whilst cotton candy clouds float in the turquoise skies.
Floral scents dance on playful breezes,
as the warmth of a midsummer day blankets the emerald moss.
A weeping willow waits just past the expanding horizon,
among paths of primroses and lavender.
Beneath its draping branches lies a small earthen grave.
Etched upon a smooth piece of granite reads:
“R.I.P. Cheesesteak. In this life your soul may have been bruised,
but in the next, you will soar with the stars.”
Feathers black and white
A floating demise
Relief in the peak of death
And we are left to cry
You now fly in spirit
In a forest full of fruit trees
Light is healing and
You are no longer hurting
You sing new blue songs
Matching the heavenly skies
And I know you are happy
Though we didn’t say goodbye
We can say see you later
For we all shall meet the maker
The world was glass and sudden shadow,
a swift descent from perch to ground.
Not a storm-tossed twig, but domestic claw
that brought the bruised bird down.
Cheesesteak, a mouthful of soft plumage,
a white and black parakeet's brief, bright life,
ending in a velvet rage.
?Stella's darkness, elegant and deep,
four times a hunter in two years' sleep.
But this one, the last, this delicate jewel,
his suffering was a lesson, sharp and cruel.
The existence of a simple, chirping thing,
and the final, silent, battered wing.
We are asked to write from that demise,
to find the truth behind the hollow cries.
And so we write the bruise, the tear,
the memory of flight that ended here.
You were a free bird,
Singing melodious tunes on tree branches,
Merrily jumping from tree to tree at your wish,
Till you got trapped in a cage for human pleasure.
The owner taught you her heartfelt song,
"whisper in my ears when my beloved will be home",
You sang the song when she came near you,
She got happy and fed you a few pieces of grain.
Feathers once soft with the dew of dawn
Now bear the weight of echoes and bars;
Your eyes, glass pools of longing, draw
The thin lines where freedom slips and scars.
You sang of mango blossoms, of rain’s first breath,
Of distant hills that held your wings at play;
Yet here you sit under shadowed roof—
Your melody stifled by steel, day after day.
Still your voice trembles on the strains of hope:
A flute against thunder; a whisper in storm;
Though battered, your heart recalls the sky,
Its boundless blue, its infinite form.
Oh Maina, though bruised, you are not broken;
Your song bends, but never yields its gold;
For even ruined dawn may bloom again—
And even caged, the brave bird’s tale is told.
A cat in a cage would seem absurd
especially to an unassuming bird
for years they would stare at each other
Stella, the cat, thinking of ways to plunder
"these bars are too tight, how to get in?"
Stella, the cat, won't atone for her sin
of the other 3 birds she ate in 2 flat
as you can tell, with her belly that fat
How delicious
How scrumptious
these birds they do taste
Not a piece of meat she is planning to waste
What's this the gate is ajar?
That's when the bird she did mare
With her head and her claws fully inside
Stella, the cat, ate that bird like rawhide.
Bruised birds
Inside the deepest of hearts
Where flight is possible
But the
Birds are
Bruised
Bruised birds
Ringing bruised voices
Through the million tunes
Of a bruised
Universe
Bruised birds
They cry within my soul
Deep where no one can reach
There lye
All
Bruised
Birds
…
Rest in peace little parakeet Cheesesteak-
your days were short and
your demise was cruel by the claws of Stella cat.
But, your life in the window
basking in the sun must have been delightful.
I can imagine you swinging on your perch
singing a lovely song,
flapping your wings as you dreamed of flying free.
I am so sorry for your suffering
and bruised body.
Now, little bird spread those white and black wings,
and fly away to God's heavenly paradise !
Her feathers fell
as she flew up and up,
Leaving her bruises and her broken body behind.
She’s one with the trees she wished to sing from,
Looking down on you from branches up high.
Brittle bones are made to float,
So she did.
The black night may
have taken her too soon,
But she’s found her place among the sun
Time is slight and fleeting,
A flutter then it’s gone,
It flew away.
She was here for her moment.
She sang, she nipped,
she played.
She lived, she died, she flew away.
It's okay.
Give me a chance to live this life.
I do not wish to leave in pain.
The love I felt my master blessed,
Is much beyond my species’ gain.
I do not wish to feel once more--
That which the Lord had designed for me.
As my plumes hang loosely low,
I hold in reserve the sweetness of Thee.
Feverish pain, you sent through him.
A scalded heart beats as fast.
Was I careless to watch him out?
Disdain and terror of predators last.
What is blind to the eyes of the world--
Is what my master will be going through.
The same amount of extreme pain---
a catastrophic future loneliness would brew.
Dearest Lord, let me but once
return to my master once more.
You hold the power of a love that lasts,
Bring him the solace, his soul has in store.
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