The Bird

Right there sits the flock queen from Oceanea,

Right on my balcony,

Calm.

Surrendering her flock in the fire hood

She tries to convey to me.

Losing near ones in war decorated by the intelligentsia

She stealthily comforted thousands cultured

Embracing war in east, middle and west

And finally me.

I can't withstand

Her burnt feathers, tweaked beak,

Firm claws holding tight my drenched sleeves

And the sarcastic message from her steady eyes

'You may stop now!'