The words he spoke to me
Flew like birds,
They crossed fields and oceans
Rivers and lakes
But before reaching my city
Dropped dead before the gates.
I stood at my Palace of Wails
Wondering where the birds are
Until the wind carried with it
Bright red feathers.
I tried sewing them
To make them whole again
But all I could make
Was a crown.
Why does the Queen of Wails
Wear a bright red crown?
Whispers and rumours
Wildfire in the city
“Our Queen is changing”
The Wise Men nod their heads,
Commoners gossip and talk.
The next spring
I await his words again
But all I get is
A mass of rain-soaked feathers
In the red monsoon downpour.
So many feathers
So much pain
And I decided to sew again.
This time I made a dress.
“Your Highness
The city is concerned.
The change in you
Scares us all.
Do you not remember
Why you were born?”
I wrap myself in a grey shawl
A grey scarf wound around my head like a python
I tighten my jaw.
I remember,
How can I forget the curse
That befell this city?
The Wise Men had urged the Gods
And They made me out of Suffering.
I was to grow old in the Palace of Wails
I was not to smile nor speak
Or else the city will die.
Not smiling was easy
The Wise Men made that sure.
The city did not die,
Not those in power at least.
The common fools suffered;
They thanked my existence
Worshipped the Wise Men
Believing in all their lies.
I did not smile nor speak
As was my fate
Until the man with birds in his lips
Stopped at my gates.
He had looked at my soul
Read all my words
Which no one could hear.
My lips had curved into
A forbidden smile.
The Wise Men found out;
And the man with birds in his lips
Was sent far away.
I still waited for the red birds
To perch at my window sill.
Spring passed,
Monsoon too-
The dry winter arrived.
I had almost given up hope, when
On a cold winter night
One by one
A parade of red birds
Marched into my room through the window.
These birds are alive!
Was this happiness I felt?
Before I could know
The birds began to leave
One by one
The parade of red birds
Flew out.
Each of them had shed feathers on my bed;
It resembled a small red hillock.
This time I did not wail
I sat down to sew.
Not a crown, nor a dress-
I made two bright red wings.
I finally understood
I finally flew
To the man with birds in his lips.
