Bird, Shrub and King

This poem came out from me while I was sitting in my car, looking at people who were walking in front of me. While they were walking, behind them, was a little tree dancing in the wind through the rhythms of the wind.

this was my last day on earth
my last night as a bird to sing
both wings were wrecked by high
every life, i will speak of this tempest wind.
 
i was a lion, i was a wild-horse
i was a dead eagle from the horizon
my old forms became a petite shrub
five feet height of a cursed, dying tree.
 
my footing was joint to this earth
since the last mud i soaked, in the rain
stuck my roots to this tremor-ground
when my life was upside-down
heart of mine was grown in firm
slowly, it ripened out in my dancing trunk
spat bitterness out through my outside leaves
the green things that relied on my duplicate branches.
 
‘facing battles, i let them sing
lost in fogs, i let them scream
under torrents, i let them shout
with their hearts out, i let them spin’
 
this is my last day on earth
my last night as a yellow tree
every of my skins will be falling out
soon, i will be stopped as a dried out king.

The End

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