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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
Copyright ©
David Hyatt-Bickle
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