THRUSH ON A BARRICADE
In a coil, my mind, a delicate embryo’s cradle,
I thread through the street’s snares, a poetic wade,
In squares, flowered beds, and gardens so vital,
A thrush on a barricade — uncertain serenade.
It hums, “Whither go you?” as if in jest,
Will you return, or stray on this quest?
A hunger consumes, a terrible need,
To wander and wade, in thoughts to feed,
Waist-deep, nose-deep, ear-deep in the town’s hum,
Feel the compulsion of fire, let it into the soul, succumb.
In ominous laughter, as springs ahead clashes,
Toppling, resurrecting, in nature’s grand flashes.
Through fields, like ball of dust, columns parade,
Skulls adorned, ceremoniously displayed.
A craving, a terrible hunger, takes hold,
Step out of myself, in freedom be bold,
Like the thrush on that barricade, unrestrained,
Living beneath the sky, where dreams and screams are unchained.
In the roar of flashes, in a profetic flame,
A rusty blood river, takes its long-waited claim.
In shattered houses, fallen towers tall,
Windows like coffins, within poetic sprawl.
In the blizzard of barricades, where chaos contends,
And the scream of bells, a symphony transcends.
“Whither go you, proud one?” echoes the refrain,
In the rhythmic dance, where poetic tempests gain.
