Sacred Bird
by Armando Ortiz
The sound of god
engulfs everything;
it's a humming pulse
that flows inside veins.
It becomes
a smoky cloud
of buzzing wasps
found in the middle
of oriental deserts,
where a million red robed monks
blow the horns of heaven,
announcing the induction
to the ceremony of time.
Liquid mirages as real
As Himalayan rocks-
cleaver strikes flesh-
starving vultures
passing judgment
on one’s life.
Flying creatures-
devouring carrion
that die randomly
and violently
like a pair of dice,
-salivate for those
on fields of grey grass.
With penetrating eyes
they see through smoky clouds,
and find secrets kept from others,
while soaring, and searching
for the last goodbye,
waiting for the first cry.
Listening for the bullet
of the first shot,
and finding the first
who got got.
Perched
on that aged branch-
Ancient vulture,
sacred thunderbird-
reveal yourself
to us tonight.
How do you really look?
What face do you put
when you read our misdeeds?
Do you saver to eat
or cry a goodnight
-for this lost soul
wandering the night?
Are you the peregrine falcon,
searching for its prey,
to take back
to the holy house of prayer?
To the place
where tired pilgrims
cast their wares onto
the burning incense.
Do you sit
on a throne of ivory,
inside a building
that symbolizes love?
Are the melodies
coming from within
of women laughing of joy
or are they wailing goodbye?
Do you lift your hand and welcome-
in the towers of Heaven Mountains
where all souls enter-
or point to that dreaded direction?
Is it just decomposition
and regeneration?
a cycle that is
born when one dies?
Or a figment of imagination
With downcast eyes?
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