A White parakeet with a pink bill, she
was all things feminine...
The birder's books said she should live
for approximately six months...
But, she sang through my love and devoted
care of her for ten years.
Her pink throat, her morning song to a God
She would weep when I left the house.
Then, one day her neck broke while she was flitting
about the cage, jovial as ever...
The bones simply too old.
Come Day Light, her tiny body cupped
in my palms, regard her still wings and explain
who will sing for either of us soulfully, now.
Blur of white wings, scent like hyacinth then
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Gilda by Romella Kitchens )
- Our world is without any kind of wisdom, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Dream packed drama, hasmukh amathalal
- A fool واحد احمق, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Quite same, hasmukh amathalal
- Lack of wisdom, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Wisdom, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- The Exquisite Thing, Mark R. Elias
- Leaf to Fall, Tirupathi Chandrupatla
- Strange Paradox, Sandra Feldman
- Celebrate Life, david kush
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