Two small poems

Here are two small poems I wrote in the passing week:

Five birds and a string:

Five birds and a string
Broken is the nest
The bird yearns, the bird starts to sing
But voice is not enough
When body has failed long ago
So the bird wants to go
   To fly, disappear
                                Disguise
In the blue sky
   Buried are its wings
                                       In the smoke of dissolved clouds 
Breathing for air
   to care and nurture
Burp and vomit — some good eat 
    The bird flies — the bird sings

The final Call:

Buried in wretched hate is the treasure of vanity
The forest ground — dirt and leaves
They testify and hide what humans can’t reconcile
In their faces, scratching in the hair
Despair and demise — scratching everywhere

Hollow bones, hollow are you, hollow is the hollow
Follow the dead, for you cannot hide
Follow the dead and you will reunite
what was broken — what was gone
All and none
none for all
The final call