Saturday, July 3, 2010

The Bluebird's Tragedy: A Poem


Right now.

The bluebird sings

And I cannot sleep,

One o’ clock in the morning I see,

That she sits on my windowsill and sings.


She sings a song of beauty,

She sings a song of love,

She sings a song of purity,

She sings a song of happiness.


I shoo it away,

So it may let me sleep,

So that I may dream,

So that I may count sheep.


The next night,

The bluebird sings,

Her song rings,

Both in my heart and my ears,

You can hear in the song only one thing

And that is fear.


She sits on my windowsill again and tells me the story

About the things she’s done and how she was sorry,

And how she needed to tell somebody.


She sings a song of fight,

She sings a song of trouble,

She sings a song of flight,

She sings a song of her and how everything is turning to rubble.


The next night I do not sleep again,

She revisits me and I have my notebook and paper in hand,

Prepared to listen and hear

Of her story of fear.


She comes to my windowsill and sings,

But I’m afraid of what she’s become,

No longer a bird but something more gruesome,

Her beady eyes glisten in the morning sun,

She tells her story ‘til the end of dawn,

As she sang to me her last song.


She sings a song of death,

Her mate was no longer there,

For she couldn’t handle him,

He had destroyed their nest,

She made him take a rest,

By pushing something sharp into his chest,

For she had become obsessed with another,

And no longer were they in love with each other.


She sang her song

Of wanting to be with me,

It lasted long,

All her cries and pleas,

But she was no longer beautiful to me,

She was a monster in disguise,

A monster and not a bird,

For I understood,

That she loved that I listened

To her beautiful songs,

But now everything has come out all wrong.


Her songs have turned upside down,

No longer any sweet sounds.


She sings of hate as she sings to me,

She sings of betrayed love ending unhappily,

She sings of death and fate,

She sings of not being able to concentrate,

She sings of justice and doing no wrongs.


“Songs of nothing,” she proclaimed,

That’s when I thought her to be insane.


I damned her from my sight,

Closed the window tight,

So that I may sleep in peace,

So that I may dream,

But she would knock on the door with her beak,

Not letting me enjoy my sleep.


It was her problem and not mine,

She knocks on the door and sings more lines,

But I do not listen and cover my ears

For I no longer want to hear.


She sees my rejection and sings her last song,

I cannot hear it, but only see her lips moving along,

I can only guess what she sang,

But it would not be the same.


I watched her sing,

But I didn’t hear anything

As she dropped herself from the windowsill,

Everything stood so still,

She froze herself and didn’t flap her wings,

No longer would she sing sweet melodies.


Right now.

I lay there in the middle of the night,

Waiting for her knocks,

But she does not come.

I sing a song to myself,

Trying to put myself to sleep,

But the song is not the same as hers,

For mine was much worse.


I sing a song of sorrow and loss,

I sing a song of the hate and destruction in a home,

I sing a song of the brave and their costs,

I sing a song to put me to sleep,

I sing a song and begin to weep,

I sing a song nothing like hers,

I sing a song much, much worse.


I sing a song until dawn,

One that goes on and on

Of the story of the bluebird that sang beautiful songs,

But no longer was part of this world

Because, she was long gone.

13 comments:

Mory said...

nice poem about the drama in a relationship. what happened to her? did she commit suicide or she just left?

"I watched her sing,

But I didn’t hear anything

As she dropped herself from the windowsill,

Everything stood so still,

She froze herself and didn’t flap her wings,

No longer would she sing sweet melodies."

I love this lines.

Keep on writing!

Carolyn V. said...

Wow. I love how the bird transformed from a beauty into a beast. You do great with poetry! =)

The Words Crafter said...

Ah, how beauty and innocence can become tainted...a beautiful, sad, poignant piece of work. Excellent. It breaks the heart....

Nehha N Josshi said...

Nice. How did the beauty turn into a beast, was that how you saw it? Was it because it was not letting you be. Your poem made me think about the reason, why?

Owning the Words said...

Very nice, I love art that tells a story especially in a poem. Of love, loss and longing. The tragedies of a heart. I seriously think you should try your hand at song lyrics too. Do you play any instruments like Acoustic Guitar? Anyways, enjoyed reading you :)

Thank you so much for stopping by today. I truly appreciate your comment, made my day.

Owning the Words said...

Oh yeah and PS: Regarding your comment, don't "limit your words". Let your story or poetry flow naturally and then go back in the editing process and see how best to shorten lines without making them sound choppy or misunderstood. Limiting yourself only puts pressure on you. Art should be enjoyed not stressed.

Leviathan said...

At core of it, it is an intriguing story line presented in the form of a poem...

well done

Vatche said...

Hey, Mory! Well, I believe that she committed suicide, since she didn't flap her wings to get off the windowsill and because the poem is titled "The Bluebird's Tragedy." (Tragedies result in death.)

Also, I'm glad you enjoyed the lines in the poem! Write on and rock on!

Vatche said...

Hello, Carolyn! Wow, thank you for your kind words, but I'm still just a beginner with poetry. Some of my friends are saying I shouldn't use so many commas in my poetry, so I'm learning from them. I have to give them some credit for reading my poetry and giving me tips. :D

As for the transformation from beauty to beast, I think I've caught that theme in a lot of my stories. It seems to be a recurring theme currently in my mind.

Write on!

Vatche said...

Hey, The Words Crafter! Beauty and innocence are always tainted in the real world and I reflect reality in my stories as best as I can.

Thank you for your ultra-kind words. I'm glad you enjoyed the piece and that it made you feel the way you feel.

Write on and rock on!

Vatche said...

Hello, Nehha!

As for how I saw it, I saw the bird as a "she", then she evolved into a "monster."

So I guess, one could interpret that the bird was a beauty and turned into a beast. She turned into a beast, I believe, not because she was not letting me be, but because of what she had done. She had killed her mate.

As for the reason why she turned into a beast, you can infer your own thoughts and interpretations of the poem. I'm glad it made you think, because that's the primary purpose for writing.

So, write on and think on!

Vatche said...

Hey, Owning the Words! I love to tell stories; I've always have. I think I'll try my hand at song writing, too, but first I must finish up mastering the art of poetry and prose.

As for playing any instruments, I can play the piano and I want to learn the guitar! :D

I'm glad you enjoyed reading and no problemo on the comment; you really deserve all that I say, and all that I say is the truth and the thoughts on my mind.

Lastly, I think you're right that limiting my words would put pressure on me, so I think I'll try writing it out and then editing it. Hopefully, it will work for the best.

Write on and express on!

Vatche said...

Hey, Leviathan!

I'm glad you thought that I did a good job with the story line presented in poem form.

I'm just trying my best!

Write on!

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