Not This Bird Poem by Maria Barbara Korynt

from the morning a cold wind is blowing from the sea.
you are going to the other side, is pushing you,
not asking whether you are already ready

still red stop lights, crowd on the roadway.
you are signalling a turn, own intuitive it is,
and you already know a lighting jammed,
be missing green.

you are running in order to be in time,
because the time is ending. intuition
and here is telling, that there is
a sharp bend in the vicinity.

let a lenient way not delude you downhill, we already
a long time ago have it it is possible that way
to fall directly into the bottom, of which aren't leaving,
even if it isn't too deep.

try wisely to play this game and deal cards well
marked with look will bring what you want.
the exotic bird is for the shooting, unless alone it flies
away to it place.

if necessary it is possible to help him under the condition that:

'never again look at me with such an eyesight...
never again talk to me that you love me...'

it will learn to not give a hoot about the memory...