The Ballad of Field Birds

They fear a cage of hands

A trap of alluring words

They fear the treacherous net of promises

They patrol upon the branches

In the land of blue

Beyond the crows’ and vultures’ grounds

They watch over vagabonds

There are no winners

So fly even though you will never defeat the gravity’s mighty force

A calendar of returns in its wings each one has

In maples they knead their silent nests

Fields are their garden

Darkness is their roof

Above the human ones, birds’ paths are the ones to lead

They watch over vagabonds…

Miroslav Žbirka (2003). RIP November 10, 2021