Every song has their own birds,
sounds of forests’ flute,
breeze of poppy fields,
shouts and swipers of the ocean.
Every flight has its own wings
soaring high, under the sky’s armpit and,
even higher towards the soul’s home,
or descending towards the ridge of the sea’s waves,
the field’s lap or homely bushes.
Every bird has her own journey
of faraway travels or sedentary life
of nests built every year
of new chicks, new commitments,
Every cage has its own bird
empty of joyful songs
full of useless wings,
empty of real freedom
full of sorrow of captivity,
full of flightless desires.
Who has designed the first cage?
Does the first bird trapped in it
still remember her song?
I close my eyes…
I’m only dream, energy,
longing songs, sorrow, joy, hope,
Particles of my energy history
remember my previous names
and all my previous lives…
l lived in a cave,
in an abode dug into rocks,
a palace, a boat house, a marae…
I carry within images and scents
of exotic places unrecorded in novels,
travelogues and maps.
I walk on the velvet moss in the forests,
and kneel in front of a sunset and pray,
I surf on the mirror of the sea,
taming my awareness
then I climb a hill
and hug an old rimu tree
that hugs me back.
A curtain of silence
connects the vibes.
I open my eyes
and I am one with everything.
Napier, New Zealand
Valentina Teclici 11/9/2023