The Bird

I am that bird in hundreds of traps thrown
            “My Self”
Ailing with untimely sudden flights
            “My Self”

No hands to reach the head nor feet walking the mud
With my own very hands crawled into this trap
            “My Self”

Yearning much to escape from this predicament
If only had some real hands cutting clear “I” from
            “My Self”

Though “I” am laden with loyalty this condition
Necessitates rendering disloyal in Your presence
            “My Self”

Since You estranged my expression of love
Should not have introduced as a lover
            “My Self”

Behold Wahshi:
All feet trapped in bloodied swamps of denial
Whosoever attempted to cross
Drank up unquenched the water of their existence
            “Them Selves”

© 2003-2002,  Dariush Gholizadeh