Whatever happened to the birds of Iraq?
The desecrated, dilapidated, bloody oiled birds of Iraq.
Inside the sand the seashells ran,
Amongst the refuse we think we scam,
Along the bullet riddled street signs,
Atop the broken power lines.
Whatever happened to those birds of Iraq?
The wind is blowing,
unprejudiced, unforgiving knowing.
Flighty feathery birds, far from our words.
Tanks and central banks, bills and the score of kills.
Why then those birds of Iraq?
Left their mark upon our back, those birds of Iraq.
Remember inside the sack, remnants of flack.
Cold now. Dead How?
Somehow.
The mark on our back,
Those birds of Iraq.
Laughing for the sun, having some fun.
Grinning behind the shot of a gun.
Have we always been on the run from the birds
The raptors capture you. Capillary burst, hunger, thirst.
Imprisonment first, they refuse to forget the worst.
The birds of Iraq.
Balancing lines of lies, uncovering the spies.
Birds of Iraq.
Unable to have love? Poor, wilting dove.
Hear the speech? Sounds somewhat like a screech.
The birds? No dearest the words, the judgment, entrapment.
For we cannot escape the birds of Iraq.
Samson Minder
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/birds-of-iraq/
