The Bird

Rahand Izadin Ahmad, Kurdistan

Spring 2023 Cohort

Autumn’s leaves clung to the trees,

Their faces pale, afraid of winter.

The tired sun of distant days

Left no corners to hide, no space for whispers.

A dark cloud spread across the sky

Be grateful its heart wasn’t broken with sorrow.

The bird would have flown, if only he could.

But no wind came to lift him.

No call, no spark, no reason.

He was told: Sing your song, always.

One day, it will mean something.

So he sang. But the day never came.

Perched in silence,

He stared at the trees with distant eyes

Wondering why he must remain a prisoner

To the life he did not choose.

Tears, red as wounds, fell.

His voice stuck in his throat,

His wings heavy with weakness.

But then,

A lonely, gentle rain arrived with the sun.

And with it, a flicker of lightning:

Hope.

His wings stirred.

And the sound of them swept through the leaves,

Brushing moonlight across the night.

Curled now in the comfort of his nest,

A breeze on his feathers,

He drifts once more into the memories,

Of a home he carries

Wherever he dares to fly.

عصفوری داماو لە دار وا ڕاماو

دەفکرێ سەبەب وا دیلە تاماو

ئەشکی سوور تکا وا گیرا بینی

سەدای بۆنەهات بێتین خۆی بینی

بارانە یەتیمی بەشەمس هاتە دەر

مسلی تەزو هات هیوا، بەرزە سەر

شەقەی باڵان ڕۆی بەنێو وەرەقان

بەری ماهی گرت لە شەو سایەقان

بەدەم نەرمەی با لە کوچەی لانە

غەرقی خەیالی ساتێکی خانە

گەڵای شەجەران هی دەم پایزان

ڕوو زەرد ترساوی دەمی زستانان

خۆری بێتینی شەرمنی جاران

نەما جێی حەشار بۆ قسەو باسان

هەوری سییەه وا گرتی سەماوات

شوکربە ئەلبی پڕ نەبوو ئافات

باری تێکەوێ عصفور ناسرەوێ

ئەما مەیلەکی بە دەس ناکەوێ

ئەیژن بخوێنە هەر دێتە فریات

خوێندی کل حیات ئەما کوا نەهات